


Creating your Heaven

by Staubengel



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Human AU, M/M, Meeting for the first time, Piercings, Tattoos, Teenagers, learning how to trust again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staubengel/pseuds/Staubengel
Summary: Crowley has had a rough time thanks to the wrong friends until his parents finally decided that it would be better for them to move to another city. Ever since then, he prefers to avoid other people and is affected heavily by his self-doubts and anxiety. That is until he meets an extraordinary young man called Aziraphale, who does his best to lure Crowley out of his mousehole and establish an honest and positive relationship with him.Tattoo/Piercing AU.Human AU.Teenager AU.Lots of AUs here, guys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of people I need to thank at this point.  
> First of all Sintero/Writhingbeneathyou because she made me read Good Omens.  
> Secondly Scorpling/Flashbastardwithsunglasses/Bluethenstaub because she listened to my pestering and read it too and then started roleplaying the hubbies with me. At least half this fic is inspired by her, especially Crowley's snakebites, GabrielXRaphael, and a whole lot of other characteristics, plot devices, and headcanons which we have established with each other. Without you, this fic wouldn't exist, so thank you so much for constantly inspiring me <3  
> Thirdly my dear beta Fancykraken, who always provides hilarious comments and great tips on wording and grammar.  
> And, last but not least, wonderful Maniacalmole, who did me the huge favour of reading over the first four chapters to tell me whether they are any good from an outsider's point of view.  
> I hope you guys enjoy this fic as well, and I especially hope I will - for once - be fast in finishing this (squints at my three unfinished multi-chaptered stories here on AO3).  
> Uhm... Anyway!  
> Enjoy, have fun, and if you have a minute to spare to leave me some feedback, that would be MUCH appreciated <3

Crowley hated taking the bus, but he hated walking more. He really needed to get his own drivers license, but those cost money, and he hardly had any cent to spare. Not to mention getting a car and paying for petrol. Bus fares weren't exactly cheap either, but it wasn't a huge bunch of money you had to pay in one go.

At least he could listen to his music on the ride.

He looked around for a free seat and moved towards it as he found one. The bus was very full, so he didn't have much choice. There was only one, beside a young woman. He would have preferred to sit alone, but he couldn't be picky, and he'd rather sit beside a stranger than stand for the entirety of the ride. He heaved his bag up and flopped down on the seat, placing it on his lap.

He quickly checked his phone for the time and then looked out of the window as the bus set in motion. He couldn't help but have a glance at the person that was sitting next to him with the back of their loosely clenched fingers pressed against their lips. Crowley had been mistaken. It wasn't a young woman, but actually a guy about his age. His long, light-brown hair that he wore in a quite messy bun was what had misled Crowley in his assumptions. Well, who said that only women could sport long, silky hair? It looked really soft. Crowley had never seen anyone with hair as fine as this guy's.

He couldn't really see the boy's face as he was looking out of the window, but the parts he had a good view on looked rather feminine as well; very soft and round and smooth, no broadness, not a single sharp angle. He wore a brown T-shirt that showed the majority of his bare arms. They were covered in a series of delicate tattoos.

Crowley let his gaze wander down the other guy's right arm while Freddie Mercury started a new song.

There was an open book, a golden angel's wing, and a glass of red wine right under the hem of his sleeve, above his elbow. A weird combination, Crowley thought. Who tattooed a glass of wine onto his triceps?

Underneath his elbow were three tattooed armrings in grey shadings, heavily ornamented and lettered with words in Hebrew. Crowley could actually read some of them because of his studies. They seemed to be Bible quotes in their original wording. This man must be versed in historical religious studies, just like Crowley himself was. Not many people were interested in that sort of stuff, at least not when they were 19.

Crowley scanned what he could spot of the boy's left arm for tattoos as well. There was a block of writing tattooed on the inside of his left lower arm. Crowley couldn't read it, so he bent forward a little. Apparently, it was a bit too much, because the guy turned his head and looked at him, startled. He had caught him staring. Crowley really had to work on his stealth mode, as it seemed.

Normally, he would have felt the hot pang of shame in his cheeks and his stomach, but currently, he was too distracted by the stranger's criminally beautiful face and his bright, green eyes that studied him curiously. Crowley was sure he was blushing from his hairline all the way down to his toes.

The young man smiled.

“It's a quote from Oscar Wilde,” he told him, holding his left arm so that Crowley could read the writing. “ _'_ _We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell'._ It's from _The Duchess of Padua._ Not many people know it, as it is not very popular among critics, but Wilde himself called it a masterpiece. Though, to be honest, you can never know when this man is being sarcastic.”

Crowley kept on staring at him. He distantly noticed that he should maybe glance at the quote instead, so he let his eyes skip down to the tattoo, skimming over the big, black letters. He had heard of Oscar Wilde, of course. Dorian Gray, wasn't it? He'd never heard of this Duchess of Padua, though. Part of him wanted to read it now, simply because of the smile on this guy's face.

“Do you have tattoos?” he heard him asking and raised his eyes again. The heat in his cheeks came back, his ears flushed so hard that it hurt. How could anyone be so beautiful? And his voice... It sounded as soft and warm as cotton.

“Uh, no,” he heard himself stammer and cleared his throat because it was rough as sandpaper. “I only have a few piercings, but I couldn't decide on a tattoo yet...”

The boy smiled again and lowered his arm that he had stretched for Crowley to read his Wilde quote.

“Yeah, I can see your snakebites,” he said and pointed at Crowley's lower lip. Crowley's eyes flashed down to his fingers. They were perfectly manicured, covered in a discreet, beige polish. “And your ear studs.”

Crowley nodded slightly.

He had two black cone-shaped snakebites under his lower lip which were perfect to nervously suck them into his mouth when he was anxious (which, basically, was 90% of the time, to be honest). And some studs and rings in both of his ears. Nothing much, that stuff was expensive. But he sure loved them, and he wouldn't say no to a tattoo if he had the money.

“Any options for the tattoos?” the young man asked, still smiling, friendly. “Any ideas you have to choose from?”

“Uhm.” Crowley swallowed. No one had ever asked him this. No one was interested in his potential tattoos. No one was interested in his anything, admittedly. He was so taken aback by being asked about himself that his brain shut down and switched to automatic.

“Maybe some flowers,” he muttered lowly, trying not to look the boy in the eyes without being too obvious about it. “Or something from my favourite band...”

“Flowers?” the pretty guy asked, and the sound of his voice made it clear he was still smiling. Crowley looked up, afraid the stranger might mock him, but the smile on his lips seemed to actually be genuine. Crowley was bewildered by the other's open interest in him.

“Yeah, I kinda like flowers,” he answered, before he could stop himself from admitting it. His brain still ran on autopilot, and saying something embarrassing was better than saying nothing, wasn't it? “I work in a flower shop to earn some money.”

The smile on the other guy's face grew wider. “Really?” he asked, sounding excited. “I've been thinking about a floral tattoo myself. What kind of flower suits me, do you think?”

“Uh,” Crowley stammered. “I – I don't think I know you well enough yet to answer this question...”

Now the stranger practically beamed at him.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” he said and held out his hand. “My name is Aziraphale! It is a pleasure to meet you, uh...?”

Crowley stared at the outstretched hand. He was completely overstrained with the entire situation.

It wasn't like he never talked to people. He could actually be pretty vocal, especially when he wanted to annoy someone or prove one of his points. It wasn't like he didn't like other people, either. He liked being in public, watching people do things. He even enjoyed a good conversation if his partner was a stimulating counterpart and up for an interesting discussion. And yes, he _had_ introduced himself to people before and even had a normal conversation. But this was... something entirely new to him.

There were only three kinds of people in Crowley's life so far. The ones who thought he was strange and kept their distance. The ones who thought he was interesting, but kept it superficial enough for both of them to be comfortable. And – …. Well, the third kind of people he didn't really want to think about right now.

But this guy, he was something entirely different. He obviously didn't keep his distance, and he sure as hell wasn't like that third kind of people, either. But it was also clear that his interest in Crowley wasn't just directed at his ability to argue (which, admittedly, ranked in the absolute highest levels of debating and discussing, which Crowley was unabashedly proud of) or at his knowledge concerning historical, religious, sociological or philosophical matters. No, this guy was getting personal, after only a couple of minutes shared on a bus ride together. He was asking Crowley intimate things. And that was too much for Crowley to cope with.

Now, if the stranger had been anything less appealing, anything less open and disarming, Crowley would have set up his defences. He was very good at getting rid of people, especially the ones who tried to poke deeper into his privacy than he was comfortable letting them. There were people out there who engaged with other people because they had an interest in them and wanted this interest to be fed with information, facts and answers. They asked you things because they wanted to know the answer.

But this guy, he was not that. He wasn't poking Crowley out of personal reasons; not because he wanted Crowley to pay him some attention in return, or because he wanted to satisfy his own curiosity, no. It seemed like he genuinely _cared_ for Crowley. He didn't ask because of himself, he asked all those questions because he felt like Crowley might be interested in them. The answers didn't matter to _him_ , but he knew that they mattered to _Crowley_.

Crowley had never met anyone this selflessly open to another person. It confused him so much that all he could do was reach for the hand and shake it weakly.

“I'm Crowley,” he mumbled, resisting the urge to worry his bites between his teeth and lower lip. “It's nice to meet you too, Aziraphale...”

Aziraphale. What kind of a name was that? It sounded like a ray of light falling in through the curtains, illuminating the dust dancing lazily in the air, tinting everything in warm, light colours of peach and red and beige and cream. Aziraphale. Crowley could feel the name still linger on his lips and tongue.

“Why this quote?” he managed to ask before Aziraphale could go any further. He couldn't take any more of his honest questions, it made him far too uncomfortable.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said and he looked down at his own arm, smiling. “It was hard to decide which one to use, he has said so many brilliant things. But this...” He ran his manicured fingers over his skin, caressing the dark ink beneath it. “It's there to remind me that the Good in this world lies within me. You know? If we are our own devil, and we make this world our hell, then we also have the possibility to not do any of that. If we do good things, and believe in them, we will make the world a better place.”

“But not everyone _is_ doing good,” Crowley countered, without trying to start one of his riots. He was always good at questioning things down to their core, and he made many people his enemy with that. But he certainly didn't want Aziraphale to hate him.

“Oh, I know,” Aziraphale nodded. “I don't expect them to. But I can still choose to do it for myself, you know? To see the good things in this world. To encourage them. To be good myself. And who knows, maybe, if we are our own devil and create our own hell, I can be someone else's angel and create their heaven for them. You never know what a good deed does.”

Something pierced Crowley and drove itself right into his heart. Icy, cold and cutting. His whole chest clenched.

He got up from his seat and scrambled for the backrest to hold onto it while the bus was still driving.

“I need to get off here,” he muttered, trying not to sound too rattled. “It was nice meeting you... I hope you find the right flower...”

Then he hastily headed for the door. He caught a glimpse of Aziraphale's face in his peripheral vision, confused and concerned and obviously trying to say something, but before he could, Crowley was already gone. He tripped over someone's feet and almost fell, but caught himself on a bar and prayed for the driver to open the door soon.

His body grew numb from anxiety.

Right before he thought he would faint, the doors of the bus swung open and he stumbled outside, breathing in the cool air with deep and greedy gasps, leaning against the bus stop for support.

_Maybe I can be someone else's angel. Maybe I can create their heaven for them._

If only someone would ever create a heaven for Crowley.

He stayed leaning against the bus stop for a bit longer, until his breathing was even and the world had stopped spinning. The bus with Aziraphale had long since left. The thought of the other one's concerned face still left a pang of guilt deep inside Crowley's stomach.

He straightened up and shouldered his bag before he searched for his phone to turn up the volume. It would take 20 minutes to walk from here. But he wouldn't risk getting on a bus again.

Letting the familiar voice of Freddie Mercury soothe him a bit further, Crowley sighed and set in motion, making his way back to his flat, where he could hide beneath his blankets and forget what a specimen of a human disaster he was.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“... someone called Crowley? I need to talk to him, if it's somehow possible.”

Crowley froze as he heard the voice coming from the salesroom next door. He was currently fixing some flower arrangements in the backroom of the shop, but the door was open and he could hear people talking not far from it. And, apparently, this particular people was searching for him. That never meant anything good, in his experience.

But he knew this voice, didn't he? Soft and warm like cotton. Could it really be...?

He leaned over to the door frame and peeked outside.

Yes, there he was. The man from the bus ride. Aziraphale.

His heart gave a nervous jerk in his suddenly very tight chest.

It had been four days since their dreadful encounter, and on all four of those days, Crowley had thought about him. He didn't even know why; their conversation had only lasted for a couple of minutes. But there was something odd about this person, something so rare and valuable that he had never even thought it could exist in someone, and he felt sorry for having screwed everything up with his sudden departure. At the same time, he was overly anxious to meet with him again; mostly because he would have to explain to him what in all heavens had happened that day and why he had basically fled the vehicle. He didn't want to explain anything. He was more afraid of that than he was sorry for leaving Aziraphale behind.

“Yes, there is a Crowley working here,” his boss said as she wiped her hands on her dirt-stained overall. “He's in the backroom. I'll go get him for you.”

Crowley saw Aziraphale smiling before he quickly withdrew from the door frame, pretending he was still arranging his flowers all innocently.

“Thank you so much,” he heard him say. “I really appreciate your effort!”

Then he heard footsteps coming towards the backroom. A moment later, his boss leaned around the door frame and knocked against the wood to get Crowley's attention.

“Crowley, you have a visitor,” she said while Crowley did his best to look completely clueless. “And don't forget to water the lilies when you're done with the arrangements, please.”

“Sure,” Crowley answered, managing to sound almost entirely unaffected, and put down the flowers before he wiped his hands clean. Then he took a deep breath and turned to face the door frame.

There was a fire throbbing behind his temples. His throat was tight and hurting. And he was certain that his hands were shaking a bit. God. He couldn't do this. He couldn't face Aziraphale again.

But his boss had already said that he worked here, and Aziraphale seemed like the kind of person who was painfully persistent and would either come back another day to see him, or would just come waltzing into the backroom all by himself, despite the 'STAFF ONLY' sign that hung on the door in red letters.

So Crowley had no other choice; he had to go out there and see him. Maybe he could play it cool. Aziraphale didn't know that he had gotten off the bus a couple of stops too early that day, after all.

Swallowing heavily, Crowley wiped his cold, damp hands again and then came out of the backroom, trying his best not to look as awful as he felt inside.

Aziraphale was standing in front of some flower pots, studying the violets. For a moment, Crowley thought about just running away. But Aziraphale must have seen him in his peripheral vision, as he turned his head and smiled at him with the intensity of a thousand suns. Crowley's racing heart was oozing hot liquid into his rib cage.

“Hi,” he mumbled before he even knew it. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

Aziraphale's smile did not wither. He was wearing his hair loose today; it fell down over his shoulders in soft, fluffy waves. Crowley could imagine how nice it must feel to bury his entire hand in those locks.

“Oh, it was just luck!” he claimed, coming towards Crowley. “I knew your name and your profession, so I started searching for flower shops along the entire bus route and saw if they employed a Crowley.”

“... You went through _all_ the flower shops along the bus route just to find me?” Crowley questioned. That was insane. They didn't even know each other! Why was this guy so obsessed with him that he would spend four days searching for him in every flower shop along the bus route?!

“Of course!” Aziraphale said and his smile was almost blinding by now. “I still need you to tell me which flower I should get as a tattoo, remember? Also, I think that you lost this. It looked important, so I thought I'd return it to you. I hope you don't mind it.”

He held out his hand, palm outstretched. On it lay a button from Crowley's shoulder bag. He hadn't even noticed that it had gone missing.

“Oh,” he said and slowly reached out for it. “Thank you... Guess it fell off from my bag...”

Aziraphale nodded and held his palm a bit higher, inviting Crowley to pick up the button. Crowley took it hesitantly and tried not to touch Aziraphale's warm, soft hand.

“What's that on it?” Aziraphale asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Crowley frowned and looked at him, because he couldn't imagine this question to be real.

“... That's Queen,” he answered as he realised Aziraphale really was serious about his enquiry. “The really famous picture from their second album? The beginning of the video of _Bohemian Rhapsody?_ ”

“Oh, I know that song!” Aziraphale exclaimed, as if it was a very surprising happenstance. “It's the one with Galileo and Scaroboosh, right?”

“. . . Scaramouche,” Crowley corrected. “He's a figure of the Italian c _ommedia d'ell arte._ ”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. He seemed a bit embarrassed by this. “Anyway, it is a great song...”

“It really is...” Crowley muttered. He, too, felt embarrassed.

Well, Aziraphale hadn't talked about his sudden departure. That was good, right? But who on _earth_ didn't know who _Queen_ was?! And who on earth hunted down a complete stranger just to give him back his button?!

He stared down at it.

_It looked important, so I thought I'd return it to you._

It was a button... Nothing looked important about a plain, old _button..._

Aziraphale must feel that Crowley was a little uncomfortable with his appearance here, as he became a bit fidgety himself. He formed a circle around his left wrist with his right thumb and index finger, like a finger-bracelet, and started moving them around.

“Uh,” he began, and Crowley pressed his lips together. Great. He always fucked everything up right away. He could have said “Thank you” or “Nice that you're here”, but no. He had made Aziraphale nervous as well. Good job, him, little loser. Somebody liked him and he immediately made them regret their decision.

“Anyway, I was wondering...” Aziraphale continued.

Something hot flooded Crowley's entire body. Before Aziraphale could continue, he heard his own voice say something.

“Let me buy you a coffee or something for returning the button,” it said. “I can take a break in 10 minutes and there's a nice café just around the corner. If you wait for me, I will take you there.”

Wait, what? _What??!_

Had he just asked Aziraphale _out?!_

Oh, no! Noooo, no, no, no, no, no, _no!_

This was a mistake! A _baaaad_ mistake!

He couldn't just ask Aziraphale _out_ like that! He never asked anyone out! It only meant anxiety and panic, and eventually heartbreak! What had his voice been thinking?! He had to get out of there, as fast as he could!

But when he saw Aziraphale's face lighting up in a relieved, incredulous smile, everything inside of him melted and he couldn't even think about cancelling this invitation any longer.

“That would be splendid!” he exclaimed, beaming, and stopped running his fingers around his own wrist. “I'll have a look at the flowers while I wait, maybe I'll find one that inspires me for a tattoo!”

Crowley only nodded, still too stunned to open his mouth.

He had asked Aziraphale out! They were going to have coffee together! This had been a huge mistake!

“I need to finish that arrangement and water the lilies,” he was finally able to mumble, and Aziraphale nodded at him, still smiling.

Crowley closed his hand around the button tightly and then fled into the sanctuary of the backroom. Oh God, what had he _done_ out there?! He couldn't allow this boy to get close to him! One of them would get hurt, for certain!

He had let this beautiful face and the cute smile, along with the caring and the genuine interest get to him. Far too easily!

 _There is no hope for you, Crowley,_ the evil voice inside of him whispered. _He's only interested in you because he doesn't know you yet. Sooner or later, he will drop you, and you will be all alone again, and you will hurt. You should save yourself the trouble and dump him right away, before it is too late for that._

Yes, he would do that. He would tell Aziraphale he couldn't go out with him, that he had other plans for his break that he had forgotten about. That was better for the both of them. Because he didn't want to hurt Aziraphale, either...

But when he had finished the arrangement and watered the lilies, had hung up his apron and left the backroom, he saw Aziraphale smelling the roses in the salesroom, and his relaxed and happy expression overwhelmed him with the purest sense of longing. And so instead of fleeing, he simply held onto the strap of his bag far too tightly and stared, until Aziraphale noticed him and smiled at him widely, like the rising sun at the end of a long, dark night.

“Can we go?” he asked enthusiastically and Crowley swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said and came towards him. “I'm ready. We have half an hour.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all the people who have left kudos and comments so far :>  
> Your support means so much to me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life has started again for me, so I'll be a lot slower with writing now.  
> Feedback and nice comments are always a great motivator to make me go faster, though XP

Aziraphale drank his coffee black.

Crowley always felt intimated (playfully, but also seriously) by people who could drink that awfully bitter brew on its own. His own coffee always contained at least 70% of milk, sugar, cream and – if available – some vanilla syrup.

He buried his face deep in his big mug of over-sweetened café au lait and watched Aziraphale munch his cookie. The way the crumbs stuck to his lower lip until he wiped them away with the tip of his finger had something pure and sinful about it at the same time.

“What do your other tattoos mean?” he asked and earned himself a smile from Aziraphale.

Today, he was wearing a cardigan, so both of his arms were covered. But he pulled his right sleeve up as far as it went, exposing his arm up to the middle of his biceps.

“Well,” Aziraphale said and stretched his right arm over the table so Crowley could see his tattoos better. “These here are quotes from the Bible in original Hebrew. I'm not fluent in it yet myself, but I know they are correct. I had them proof-read before I got them tattooed.”

“Are you religious?” Crowley asked.

“Hm, not really.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I believe in religion, but not in what religion says. I am interested in religion as a concept that influences societies and cultures and I am interested in what a religion dictates, where its rules and beliefs originate from, and how they are legitimated or refused. I am interested in how a religion is formed and what morals and ethics it holds. But I do not believe in what any religion is offering. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes, very,” Crowley hummed. “It's called religious studies.”

“Exactly! I like some of the ideas and concepts some religions hold, and these quotes are some of the ones I admire from the Bible. But I rather value the thought behind them, not the religious belief.”

Crowley nodded. “You mean something like “Love your neighbour as yourself” and all that jazz, right?”

“Yeah, stuff like that,” Aziraphale confirmed.

“Is that why you have a book, a wing and some wine as well?” Crowley wanted to know. “Religion?”

Aziraphale laughed and shook his head. “Ah, no,” he said, sounding amused about himself and his tattoo choices rather than Crowley's assumptions. “They hold other meanings, actually. The book is there because books are my passion. I spend my entire free time reading, and I am deeply fascinated by old books and rare editions. I actually own a first edition of Oscar Wilde; it's my most prized possession. My parents say that it is an obsession, but I call it an educated hobby.” He laughed delightfully. High and melodious, like a small bell. “Actually, it's my life's dream to open up a bookshop for rare and old books one day. But that's expensive, and I need to collect enough books first, of course. And, once I have them, I might not be able to part with them again.”

He grinned. Crowley had never been interested in books, especially not old ones with plain and boring covers. But the love and excitement that Aziraphale radiated made the corners of his mouth pull up in a warm smile. People being devoted to something they loved was the most beautiful thing in the world for him. He really hoped Aziraphale would get to own his bookshop.

“The wing is connected to my name,” Aziraphale went on. “Well, surname, that is. My surname is Angel.”

“Aziraphale Angel?” Crowley asked in an amused tone. “And you are into religious studies?”

“I know, cliché, huh?” Aziraphale smiled at him. “But you know what is even worse than that?”

Crowley shook his head, still smiling at him, expecting more fun facts.

“My uncle whom I currently live with is named Gabriel. Gabriel Angel. His parents named him that full well knowing what they were doing to him.”

Now Crowley had to laugh. “You're kidding,” he claimed. “Gabriel Angel? For real?”

“Yep,” Aziraphale said, miming defeat. “And you know what's even worse than _that?”_

“No,” Crowley grinned, excited to hear the next bit of madness from Aziraphale's mouth.

“His husband,” Aziraphale said, “his husband's name is Raphael.”

Crowley laughed again and thumped the tabletop. “No, it isn't! Really? Gabriel Angel is married to Raphael?”

“I know!” Aziraphale called out in exaggerated mocking. “It sounds like a joke, but they really did that!”

They both shared a laugh together. It was beautiful, but also a bit strange. Strange because Crowley was still afraid of losing all this painfully.

“What's the wine for?” he asked before the strange, sad feeling could get the upper hand in this. “Is your brother or something called Chardonnay?”

Aziraphale laughed again and shook his brown locks. “Chardonnay is a white wine,” he told Crowley and turned his arm so the wine glass could be seen better. “And also, I'm an only child. No, it's a symbol as well. Wine is an important factor in a lot of cultures, religions and societies. Life, blood, ecstasy, a connection to the Gods. Love. Being together. Pleasure.”

Crowley swallowed. The way Aziraphale's manicured finger ran over his tattoo while he talked about pleasure, the way his voice sounded as he pronounced that word... This man was no angel, no matter what his name said. At least not in this aspect.

He cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. He hadn't fallen so hard for someone since he had discovered Freddie Mercury. Oh, and James Bond. But this was a _real_ guy, and he had captured Crowley's heart in an instant. That was not okay. Who knew what a real crush did to Crowley? At least with fictional crushes and celebrities, you could just imagine that they were perfect.

“But not gonna lie, I also enjoy drinking wine very much,” Aziraphale added and made himself laugh. His demeanour changed from sensual to cute, and Crowley didn't know which of the two was worse.

“You live with your uncle?” he changed the subject. He didn't think he could take much more of Aziraphale's tattoos. He very much wanted him to pull his sleeve back down and stop caressing his own skin like that.

“Ah, yes, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said and really did pull down his sleeve again. Crowley was very thankful for that. Though he did have to wonder how anyone could actually look pretty in a dark-red cardigan. “He's my dad's older brother. My parents live too far away, so I moved in with him and his husband and have taken over their guestroom for myself.”

Crowley nodded. “What's he doing with a name like that? Is he a priest or something similar?”

Aziraphale chuckled and shook his head. “He's into arts, like me”, he explained. “He's actually pretty much of a bigwig. Works for the ministry of culture and education.”

“Wow... Sounds like he's an important person.”

Aziraphale grimaced a bit and sighed. “He is, and he knows it. It's hard to deal with him sometimes. He can be very exhausting.”

“Arrogant asshole?” Crowley assumed.

“Ah, a little. But actually, he is just too bloody perfect. It's really annoying to have him around, because he knows everything, has everything, can do everything. And he loves to meddle with other people's business. Because, since he is so perfect, he thinks he can help with absolutely everything, all the time.”

Crowley hummed and nodded again. “I see. I can imagine how annoying that can be.”

Aziraphale gave a consenting grunt into his coffee mug.

“Raphael is nice, though,” he said as he put the mug down again. “He's extremely sarcastic and witty, he takes every chance to bash Gabriel together with me. Lovingly, of course. He works at a huge drugmaker company.”

Ah. Rich people. Probably snobbish and spoiled filthy rotten. The evil voice in his head, still keen on making him abandon Aziraphale, entered this fact on the _cons_ side of the list. That kind of people was always bad.

 _Or,_ another voice in Crowley's head said, shoving the evil voice aside, _maybe it's great to have a nice and rich friend who will pay for everything that you want._

 _Yeah, like a sugar daddy,_ the evil voice said _. He will make you completely dependent on him until you can't be without him anymore and then he'll abuse you._

Aziraphale choked on his coffee and a stream of it ran out of his nose.

Even the evil voice had to admit that this was too cute and hilarious to continue his disastrous train of thoughts.

Crowley started laughing, and with him laughed Aziraphale.

“Shit!” he giggled (actually giggled. It was the cutest sound in the world) and reached for his napkin. The coffee was dripping down his chin. “Well, guess my sinuses are awake now.”

Crowley couldn't stop laughing. If Aziraphale was a snob, at least he was a great one, and if someone letting coffee run out of his nostrils really would try to abuse him, Crowley now knew how to defeat him with a beverage.

“Crap, this really burns,” Aziraphale whined into his napkin, though he was still also giggling. Tears were collecting in both of his eyes; the coffee-ination of his nose must really have hurt.

“You want to go to the bathroom and clean it out with some water?” Crowley offered, still grinning, despite feeling bad for Aziraphale.

“Yeah, maybe better,” Aziraphale agreed.

He got up from his barstool, the napkin still pressed against his lower face, and hurried over to the back of the café. Crowley saw him vanishing through the washroom door and noticed he still had a smile on his lips.

Okay, maybe Aziraphale _was_ a weirdo. Maybe he was too persistent for hunting him down for four days with nothing but his name and the knowledge that he worked in a flower shop along the bus route. Maybe he didn't know Queen, and maybe he was a privileged brat. But he also seemed to be nice, and really funny, and he was interesting and also far too cute. Maybe this was the only chance Crowley ever had to become happy. And even if not, how much worse could it get?

He reached inside of his bag and pulled out a pen, then grabbed his own napkin and scribbled his number on it. No risk, no fun, right? It wasn't Aziraphale's fault that the last bunch of people he had befriended had turned him into this anxious mess.

He placed his napkin beside Aziraphale's mug and got up from his own barstool. He didn't want to wait for him to return from the washroom. It would only turn awkward if they had to talk about this.

Shouldering his bag, he left the café and headed back to the flower shop to continue his shift there. His phone he had stowed away in his pocket, hoping that it would buzz soon. Mostly so it could assure him that Aziraphale really was interested in him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The first text message arrived on the same evening. It read:

_ >>I found this number next to my coffee mug. Is this the nose-ologist? I would appreciate your help, my sinuses still haven't stopped their party.<< _

Crowley's entire being lit up in a big, fat smile. 

_ >>You should maybe snort some sleeping pills<< _ he texted back. This guy's humour was terrible. Which was great, because his own humour was, too.

_ >>I think that might be counterproductive for my breathing experience.<< _

Crowley laughed. He was lying on his bed with his laptop and the family's cat who was purring melodically in her sleep, and had been watching a movie. He had honestly been nervous all evening, waiting for Aziraphale to get in touch with him. He hadn't known which he was more nervous about: That Aziraphale would actually text him, meaning he would have to keep on dealing with this frightening mixture of hope and anxiety, the wish to be liked and the fear of being rejected, or that Aziraphale would _not_ text him, which meant he _was_ being rejected already. But at least then he wouldn't have to be afraid of losing this anymore all the time.

Bentley raised her head because he had stopped scritching her and meowed at him demandingly. Cats were so much less complicated than humans. You just fed and petted them and they were sure to love you forever.

“It's okay, he's just a someone,” he assured her and gently booped her tiny nose. “You're still my best and closest friend, you little furball.”

But he yearned for a friend so badly. Real friends. Not the kind who dragged him down into their criminal business. Not the kind he ended up being so utterly afraid of that his parents had accepted to move here all the way from Manchester, just so that their son could have a safe and new start far away from them. His parents were the best parents in the entire world. He loved them endlessly, and he, for once, was sure that they really loved him back.

But other people...

They were sure to leave him one day, and then he would get hurt. And yet, at the same time, he was already hurting so badly for not having anyone close to him.

His phone buzzed and he read the message.

_ >>I listened to Bohemian Rhapsody again. I have no clue what the lyrics mean, but the song really is just great!<< _

Crowley closed his eyes with a low groan and let his head sink back against the headrest. Seriously? This guy had listened to the song again just because they had talked about it this afternoon?

_ >>What is your favourite song from Queen?<< _

Crowley stared at the message for a couple of moments. Aziraphale wouldn't stop texting him. This was the third message in a row because Crowley had not replied. And if he didn't reply to him at all, Aziraphale would probably come back to the shop on Monday. Persistent and obtrusive. Clingy. He should have found that annoying, but when you suffered from the fear of being dumped or rejected, it actually was a good way to calm your insecurities.

He took his phone in hand properly and started texting Aziraphale back. This man at least deserved a chance. And, if Crowley would have admitted it to himself, he was too desperate to let this chance of a real and good-natured friendship slip.

_ >>I don't have just one favourite song of them<< _ he wrote back.  _> >They have a couple of great ones<<_

The reply came almost immediately.

_ >>Can you recommend some?<< _

Crowley was still typing his little rec list as the next message arrived.

_ >>I have no plans for tomorrow. Maybe we could meet up in the park with a picnic blanket? I'll bring the snacks, you bring the music?<< _

Again, Crowley stared at his phone for a moment. Was this a date? Did Aziraphale assume the coffee had been a date already? Or was this just an attempt to get to know him better with no romantic intentions involved? 

… Did he _want_ romantic intentions to be involved?

Oh God, this was too much for him to handle. Social interaction was something he was not properly equipped for by nature.

_ >>Where and when?<< _ he finally typed back. He could still claim he couldn't make it tomorrow, if he decided it was a bad idea to go there. He could become sick or say he had forgotten about some family business that was going to take place or something. 

_ >>How about 1 o'clock right here? At the top of the bridge?<< _

There was a screenshot attached to the message, the familiar red pin at the location Aziraphale suggested. Crowley had never been to that spot before. He'd lived here for a year now, but he still hadn't seen all the places.

He took a moment to google the park. It looked beautiful; big and clean and neat, full of rich, green trees and colourful flowers, and with a large, blue lake that was crossed by a wooden bridge. It looked like heaven on earth. Of course someone called Angel would know of a place like this.

_ >>Looks nice<< _ he texted. 

Bentley had decided he was definitely too occupied with something else and moved up his chest, pressing her head underneath his chin until he petted her again.

He didn't have to wait long for Aziraphale's answer.

_ >>Great! Is there something you like to eat? Or something you don't like at all, or are allergic to?<< _

Wow, this guy was good. Crowley had to smile a little while Bentley crawled even higher to rub her head against his cheek and jaw.

_ >>I eat pretty much everything. No allergies known<< _

Frankly, he wasn't to keen on some things, but he ate them if he had to. And he doubted Aziraphale would bring broccoli-and-cauliflower-gratin with green beans, anyway.

_ >>Then we'll see each other tomorrow! :)<< _ Crowley could see Aziraphale's smile as he read the emoticon and had to smile a little himself.  _> >Goodnight!<<_

_ >>Goodnight<< _ he replied and watched his phone for a moment longer to see if Aziraphale would text back. As no reply came, he let it drop to the mattress and started to scritch Bentley with both of his hands now. She purred loudly and started to lick his lower cheek.

“What do you think, Bentley?” he sighed. “Do you think it's a good idea to start another friendship? To give another person the chance to hurt and ruin me? Hm? You think he is the right choice?”

Bentley only kept on purring. Crowley smiled and sank down on the bed, picking Bentley up to lay her across his face before he went back to petting her. Her soft, black fur tickled his nose and smelled sweet and familiar. The warmth and weight of her always comforted him. And she enjoyed lying on his face and gnawing at his hair, too.

He dozed off like this until Bentley decided she wanted to leave the room and kept pawing at his face. He let her out and finished his movie, then curled up in bed and stared at the lamp on his nightstand for a while. He had made it himself. He had printed out the famous picture of Freddie Mercury raising his arm in the air and had transferred it to wood, and then he and his dad had cut it out and had mounted the lampshade on top of Freddie's outstretched arm. Crowley had then painted the wood with all the accuracy he could muster over the course of several days. It was no masterpiece, but he was very proud of it. Sadly, Freddie had no advice for him in this problem, either, though.

When he finally fell asleep, he had confusing dreams which startled him awake a couple of times, but Bentley was pressed against his stomach as he woke up and her presence soothed him back to sleep. 

On the next morning, he was so nervous that he hardly managed to eat his breakfast. He didn't even know why. He had met Aziraphale twice by now, and both times had been really nice. He was funny and good-natured and he really seemed to care for Crowley. But anxiety was irrational, and Crowley had a big portion of it stored away in him.

What if he fucked everything up? What if Aziraphale was a great friend, but Crowley upset him beyond repair? What if Aziraphale hurt him? What if they got along great for years and then something horrible tore them apart, so that Crowley's entire life was left in shards? There was so much that could go wrong. Was it really worth the joys of a good friendship?

Luckily, his mother was out for grocery shopping. She would have noticed immediately that something was off with her precious son. His father was reading the newspaper, so Crowley could hide his nervousness behind it. Bentley slept on the kitchen counter in the sun. There was nothing that could disturb her; she had all the chill that Crowley was lacking.

After breakfast, Crowley worried his way through a shower, getting dressed, and then trying to read something, but he kept getting distracted by staring at the watch or having long, inner discussions with himself about whether or not he should go to their picnic. They always ended up at the same answer: Yes. Because if he didn't go, he would hurt Aziraphale, and he didn't deserve that. And if he didn't go, Aziraphale would just ask him out to another date. And if he didn't go, he wouldn't get to be with Aziraphale today. And the truth was that he very much wanted to be with him this afternoon.

So when the time came to leave the house, he packed his freshly charged phone and his earphones, gave Bentley a soft boop on the nose, and told his parents he was going to the park to look at the flowers. They both knew he was a plant nerd, it was not that weird of a story to tell them. And it wasn't too far from the truth, either. He just didn't tell them he was going to have company there.

On the way to the park, he kept twitching at his clothes and sucking at his snakebites nervously. He wasn't sure if he had dressed properly for the occasion. He had changed his outfit about five times. 

At 12:50, he exited the bus and made his way over to the entry of the park. His heart was racing, but he couldn't tell whether it was due to being nervous or to being excited. Maybe it was a mixture of them both.

The air was cool but the sun was warm. Quite a lot of people were walking along the paths of the park. Still, Crowley spotted Aziraphale almost immediately on the highest point of the bridge. His heart made a big jump and got stuck in his throat. He was hot. He couldn't breathe.

For a moment, he thought about running away again.

But then he collected all the courage he ever had possessed and set in motion, walking up to the bridge to face his biggest fear and his biggest hope, both combined in one single person. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have one written chapter left now, aaaaaaaaaah, I need to continue writing soon! D:


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally able to post a new chapter again! :)  
> I'm happy about any comment I get! <3

Aziraphale wore his hair in a ponytail today, which made it curl and spiral like a fountain over the delicate bow of his neck. It shimmered like gold and bronze in the sunlight.

He also wore a red, sleeveless shirt so that all of his tattoos finally were visible. A big, flaming sword decorated his left shoulder, the blade running all the way down to his elbow. It looked impressive, but also a bit cliché.

As Crowley came closer, Aziraphale turned his head and smiled at him widely. Crowley had never seen anyone smile like this before. It was an honest and excited smile and it felt like a warm hug for his soul.

Without being able to help it, Crowley smiled back at him.

“Hey,” he said.

“There you are!” Aziraphale greeted him exuberantly. He had an extremely engaging way about his person. It was impossible not to pay attention to him.

“Isn't it such a lovely day today? I'm so glad you came! I brought the blanket and the food and drinks! Let's find a nice place somewhere to enjoy them!”

Crowley smiled again and nodded. It was nice that Aziraphale was so straight-forward. There was no room for feeling awkward because none of them knew what to say next.

Aziraphale grabbed a basket that had stood beside his feet all along and marched along the bridge to the other side of the pond. Crowley followed, already far less nervous than before their meeting. Seeing how plainly happy and cheerful Aziraphale was made him feel better about their rendezvous and calmed him.

“Do you come here often?” Crowley asked as they walked along the path. Many people were already sitting on benches or on the grass, enjoying the beautiful early summer day. Birds sang, ducks quacked, and the flowers were blooming in all their colours.

“I come here for a walk sometimes, yes,” Aziraphale answered. “It's really beautiful here when the flowers bloom. What about you?”

“We only moved here a year ago, so I haven't seen all of the city yet. But I think I will come here more often in the future. It looks really nice.”

“Oh! Where have you lived before?”

“Manchester.”

Aziraphale stayed politely quiet for a moment. “Ah,” he finally uttered. “My parents live in Shropshire, so I moved here, too. But I've been here quite a lot of times already, visiting my uncles.”

Crowley had no idea where Shropshire was. It sounded horribly idyllic. He bit back any comment to that effect and just nodded wordlessly.

“How does this place look?” Aziraphale asked, pointing to an empty spot of grass in the shadow of a tree.

Crowley examined it shortly, then nodded his okay. Aziraphale put the basket down and pulled a blanket out of it. It was red with green and black tartan stripes. Exactly what you'd imagine a picnic blanket to look like.

Then he knelt down on it and started unpacking the basket.

Crowley had been afraid that maybe he would only show up with haute cuisine, or with truffles and lobster and oysters and this kind of stuff. In his world, that was what rich people lived of exclusively. But the food that Aziraphale produced out of his basket actually looked normal and delicious, even though it was obviously the good stuff and not the no-name products he himself went for when he did grocery shopping.

There were crackers, chocolate brownies, a box with fresh vegetable sticks, apples, sandwiches, meatballs, shortbread, water and iced tea. Crowley had to smile fondly as Aziraphale arranged everything carefully in the middle of the blanket and sat down opposite of him, the food between them.

“Did you get all that yourself?” he asked and accepted the cup that Aziraphale handed to him.

“Not everything,” Aziraphale admitted. “I'm horrible in the kitchen, so Josephine baked the brownies. She's our housekeeper and she honestly saves our lives. But I made the sandwiches and bought all the other stuff!”

A housekeeper. Certainly. Those snobs probably didn't know how to use their very own washing machine.1

“Ah,” Crowley said, barely able to contain the tone of his voice so it wouldn't come off too hostile. Aziraphale presumably was really proud of having made those sandwiches. It wasn't the time yet to destroy his little rich-kid-bubble and tell him that Crowley was cooking dinner for his family about three times a week and went grocery shopping on every Thursday.

“We have tuna, bacon, or cheese,” Aziraphale told him. “Two of each. So dig in!”

“Thanks,” Crowley said, and he didn't have to be told twice. He never refused food, especially not when it was free.

The sandwiches were good, and the brownies were delicious. While they ate, Aziraphale told Crowley about the city, about other beautiful places to see, about fun things to do here and interesting attractions. He told him about plays and exhibitions and concerts, about museums and shops and market places, about good stores and awesome restaurants.

Then he started telling him about Shropshire and his home town Shrewsbury, about the Summer Season and especially the Flower Show.

“I can take you there if you want to,” he suggested as they were already done with eating and lay on their backs, looking up at the treetop being ruffled by the breeze and rays of sunlight falling down between the branches. “It's really beautiful there. So many flowers. I love Summer Season, there's so much to see and do around the city.”

Crowley only nodded slightly. He didn't know why, but it made him feel uncomfortable that someone that he hardly knew already suggested taking him back to his home town to show him its wonders. That felt far too intimate for their third encounter. And yet, at the same time, something inside of him bloomed with happiness at the knowledge that somebody cared enough about him and his interests to offer to take him there to see them.

To avoid a real answer, Crowley found another subject.

“You have a snake tattoo,” he said, referring to the big, coiled up animal that Aziraphale wore inked on his right shoulder, above the wing and the book and the wine glass. It was very well done. Aziraphale must have spent a fortune on all the pictures that decorated his arms already.

“Yes, I do,” Aziraphale smiled, looking down at his own shoulder. “And you wear an earring of one. It seems that we're both fascinated by our wriggly friends there, aren't we?”

Indeed, Crowley wore a snake earring on his left side that seemed to wind around the edge of his auricle. He touched it softly as he nodded.

“I like snakes,” he admitted. “They play an important role in a lot of cultures and religions all across the world. They are ambivalent; they can be seen as evil, deceitful and venomous, but also as smart and as a symbol of life and eternity. And, also, I just find them really beautiful and interesting.”

“Yeah, me too,” Aziraphale answered. “My tattoo mainly refers to the Bible, as Jewish-Christian religion is what I am most versed in study-wise, and there the serpent is frowned upon as the devil who brought upon the Fall Of Mankind. But I have always liked the idea better that the serpent has granted Free Will and the Knowledge about Good and Evil to the people, which, ultimately, is what makes a human a human in my eyes.”

Crowley hummed lowly in acknowledgement. “I like that idea too,” he said and Aziraphale smiled.

“Did you bring your music?” Aziraphale asked. “I've had _Bohemian Rhapsody_ stuck in my head all day.”

Crowley smiled and fumbled for his cell phone. “Yeah, I did,” he confirmed and swished around on the phone screen. “You wanna listen to the Rhapsody again? I have it on here.”

“Yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “That would be lovely, thank you! And then you need to show me all their other good songs, so I know which ones to listen to apart from that!”

“You could just click yourself through youtube,” Crowley suggested as he fiddled with the earphones.

“That's not the same. I want to get introduced to them by you, you know which ones are good.”

Crowley had to smile again. Aziraphale was too precious to be real and the repeating evidence of how much he cared for Crowley's interests, opinions, thoughts and inputs warmed his heart in a way he had never dared to hope he would feel one day.

Still smiling, he handed one of the earphones over to Aziraphale and waited until he had put it in.

Then he pressed _play_ and Freddie Mercury started singing, like a private concert only for the two of them on a sunny afternoon in the park together on their shared blanket.

 

 

Crowley didn't remember all of the songs they had listened to. All he remembered was the warmth and the cool breeze, the squirrels that tried to steal their food when they were not watching it, and the jolly laughter of Aziraphale whenever they tried to sing along to _Bohemian Rhapsody._

They did so several times, swapping the roles, and more often than not, Aziraphale got the words wrong and started giggling like a school-child. It was the most delightful thing Crowley had ever done in his life, and when it became time to pack their stuff and leave, he felt a wholesome warmth inside his entire body that hadn't been there for a long, long time anymore.

“Thank you for this most wonderful afternoon,” Aziraphale said with a big smile as they had to part from each other on their way home. “I really had an excellent time with you today.”

Crowley smiled back and nodded. A warm feeling was making his heart flutter inside of his chest. He didn't know whether it came from Aziraphale's words or from the smile that he still had on his lips.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied.

“Maybe we can do it again some time?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Or anything else, for that matter. You know, go to a concert or to a museum.”

“The cinema, maybe,” Crowley suggested before he could stop himself.

Aziraphale's smile became enthusiastic and he nodded happily at the suggestion. “Yes, splendid!” he said, “the cinema! I haven't been to the cinema for ages! How about I give you a call about it and we figure out where and when to go and what to watch there?”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good,” Crowley nodded and then sucked one of his snakebites into his mouth unconsciously. “You have my number, so...”

“Yeah, I do,” Aziraphale smiled. “We'll talk, then! Have a wonderful evening! And a safe trip home!”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale got unto the bus and waved back at him as Aziraphale raised his hand from his seat at the window. Then he watched as the bus took off and took Aziraphale with it, away from him, and tried to ignore that empty feeling that slowly crept up inside of his body. It made the joy and the good time he had had ache in his stomach and made him wish for Aziraphale to call him real soon.

All the way home, on the bus ride, Crowley listened to _Bohemian Rhapsody_ and imagined the sound of Aziraphale's voice singing and laughing over the track.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

1 I want to add the comment of my wonderful beta-reader Bonnie to this: I just got the mental image of Gabriel trying to read the instructions and frowning, then throwing them in the bin. XD

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I was busy with two other fics that had a deadline for posting.  
> But here is a new chapter!  
> I hope you guys will enjoy it ^-^

_ >>I see a little silhouetto of a man<< _

Crowley smiled widely at the text message. It had arrived the same evening, just after dinner. Even those few hours had been too long of a wait.

It was crazy. Now that he had accepted to give Aziraphale a try, he immediately clung to him like a koala baby to his mother's back. The time to let this relationship pass was over. Now he _needed_ it to stay strong and healthy. Where he had been reluctant, he now was eager. He couldn't let their friendship die, he needed to do whatever he could to sustain it.

_ >>Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the fandango<< _ he texted back. 

Was he still scared that Aziraphale would hurt him? Yes.

Was he still scared to lose all of this and be left bleeding and crying and destroyed once more? Absolutely.

But losing Aziraphale because he let him slip away was just as horrible and would hurt him just as much by now. He had become too attached already. There was no room for doubts anymore, he needed to hold on tightly to what he could get.

_ >>Thunderbolts and lightning, when we will go see a FILM?<< _

Crowley read the text in the right melody and grinned. 

_ >>Idk, when would be good for you?”  _ he replied. He didn't want to get  _too_ clingy. Maybe it would scare Aziraphale away.

_ >>I'm free any time! We can go tomorrow, or next weekend. Or at any evening during the week. Whenever you have the time for it!<< _

_ Tomorrow... _

Alright, there didn't seem to be something like 'too clingy' in Aziraphale's world. Of course not. He had spent four days searching for Crowley in every flower shop along the bus route. Could it really be that he was just as desperate, needy and alone as Crowley was? Crowley didn't dare to hope that.

_ >>How about I check the program and we agree on a film first and then we will see when it runs?<< _ he suggested. That sounded safe to him. He could then just offer Aziraphale all the dates and let him pick. Then it wouldn't be on him to say: “Yes, tomorrow would be great!”

Aziraphale texted a smiling emoticon. Crowley took that as a yes.

Smiling himself, he opened the browser on his laptop before he realised he was missing a crucial information.

_> >Where do you live?<<_ he asked. _> >In which area should I check the programs?<<_

A moment later, Aziraphale texted him his exact address. It filled Crowley's heart with a warm, fuzzy feeling and he smiled at his phone so wide that it tautened.

Bentley seemed to realise something was happening as she jumped onto the bed and shoved her head in the way to look at Crowley's phone screen. Crowley chuckled and petted her before he gently shoved her aside so he could access his computer.

Aziraphale's address wasn't too far away from his own. He could walk there in like twenty minutes. Fifteen, if he really hurried. That fact made his heart beat faster. The fact that Aziraphale lived that close to him. 

He opened the website of his favourite cinema (he might not know the entire city yet, but he sure as hell knew where to watch his movies) and checked their program. Some of the movies he immediately sorted out. He doubted Aziraphale wanted to see a movie about a girl and her friend, Sparkle the horse that later turned out to be a unicorn.

Instead, he selected more entertaining movies with still a certain level of class (Aziraphale didn't look like he wanted to watch a movie about a radioactive snail or a horror movie about a sentient computer virus, either) and typed all of them down into his phone. Then he sent them over to Aziraphale.

It took the other a moment to reply. Crowley sat there, looked at this phone, and worried his snakebites in his mouth. Bentley was meowing at him until he scritched her, but he didn't stop looking at the screen of his phone.

Finally, the screen lit up and Freddie Mercury lilted _“A message for you”_.

For once, for Crowley, it really was a _message of love._

_ >>How about Ineffable? That sounds nice<< _

_ >>Sure!<< _

Crowley kissed Bentley on the head who was once more fighting dirty for his attention by stepping on his forearm and gently ramming her head against his jaw. Then he grabbed her, placed her over his shoulder like a used towel, and listened to her purring while he copied the show times of the movie into his conversation with Aziraphale.

His heart was pounding. He was far too nervous to see which day and show time Aziraphale would pick.

Again, it took a moment until his phone sang. With slightly trembling fingers, Crowley opened the text message.

What he read made his heart jump in his chest.

_ >>How about tomorrow, 5 o'clock then? We could go for dinner afterwards, if you'd like<< _

Crowley suddenly felt very dizzy.

Aziraphale really wanted to go tomorrow. _Tomorrow!_ And he even had suggested dinner afterwards! 

This was too much. Crowley would fuck up. Aziraphale was planning a nice evening with him and Crowley would ruin everything. The film would probably be shitty. He would crunch too loudly with his popcorn. He would spill it!

Or maybe, should he miraculously make it 'til their dinner, he would probably spill some tomato sauce right unto his shirt or smear it all over his mouth. He would throw over his glass and spill his drink all over Aziraphale's lap. He would order something super horrible and Aziraphale would think he was a loser. Oh God, they would probably go to the fanciest restaurant in town! Crowley wouldn't even be able to pronounce the words on the menu because they would all be in French! He would eat escargot and throw up from it! He wouldn't be able to pay for his meal!!

He quickly grabbed Bentley and pressed his face into her fur. She meowed faintly in surprise, but kept on purring afterwards. She was used to this. Crowley did it far too often.

He breathed in deeply through her tickling fur and inhaled her familiar scent, feeling the fuzzy warmth on his skin, sensing her purring. As always, it helped him calm down a little. Bentley was the best therapy Crowley could ever have.

Still, his heart jumped in panic as he heard Freddy Mercury sing again. 

Another message. Great. Not answering probably had upset Aziraphale.

Forcing himself to control his breathing, Crowley reached for his phone and, with trembling fingers, opened the text message. He read it three times before the words made any sense to him.

_ >>I just looked it up and there's a nice little pizzeria right next to the theatre. If you want to, we could go and grab a bite there after the movie? Or if not, then maybe another time! :)<< _

A pizzeria. An innocent, normal, regular pizzeria. No French haute cuisine. No escargot. Just a good old Italian pizza.

Crowley knew the pizzeria Aziraphale was talking about. He had been there before two or three times and it was really nice. He certainly didn't have to struggle with the menu there, and he would be able to actually pay for his meal. 

A huge load, as heavy as a mountain, dropped off Crowley's chest with an inaudible thud.

He closed his eyes and took some deep, shaky breaths until he had himself under control enough to type back a message. He didn't want to let Aziraphale wait for one. He didn't want him to think his suggestion had troubled Crowley. Not that he could imagine Aziraphale panicking over everything he said in the way that Crowley did, who always ran at least ten scenarios in his head to contemplate how his words might have come off wrong or upset people. But maybe he considered taking back his offer if Crowley didn't reply, and Crowley really didn't want that.

_> >Pizza sounds nice!<<_ he typed and held Bentley against his chest with his free hand. She pressed her hind legs against his lap and nuzzled her head underneath Crowley's chin.

Aziraphale's reply, as always, came almost immediately.

_ >>Great! Then let's meet at the theatre tomorrow! 4:30?<< _

Crowley gave him a thumbs-up. He suddenly felt very tired. Typing a thorough reply seemed too much for him.

_ >>I'm looking forward to it! Have a wonderful night now :)<< _

_> >You too<<_ Crowley managed to write back. Then he dropped his phone, shoved the laptop off of his shins, and fell back into his pillow. He was exhausted. How could situations that never actually happened but only worried him inside his own mind could take so much strength and energy out of him?

Bentley rearranged herself into a loaf on top of his chest and blinked down at him lovingly. He gently scritched her head and she purred at him appreciatively. Then he closes his eyes and forced himself to relax his muscles. He really needed to get his anxiety under control. One day, he would kill himself with it over nothing.

He felt Bentley bump her wet nose against his chin and lick it before she settled her head on her paws and decided for a nap. After a while, Crowley let his hand still its movements and drifted off into a doze as well. Only when his mother softly knocked on his door to wish him a good night did he wake up again and noticed that it was already midnight. 

Sighing, he got up and decided it might be better to properly get ready for bed and go to sleep for real. Tomorrow would be a very busy day for him. In a good way, but still. The last time he had met up with someone several days in a row lay back over a year already. And he had actively tried to detach himself from that particular relationship.

Bentley roved around his legs as he brushed his teeth and then snuggled up in bed with him as he got his laptop and watched an episode of his current series so his mind would calm down enough to go back to sleep. When he finally felt his eyes getting heavy, he placed the laptop beside his bed and curled up with Bentley against his chest. 

Oddly, the last thing crossing his mind before he drifted off to sleep was how excited he felt that he would get to spend time with Aziraphale again. Strange because it was positive excitement, prickling anticipation. He wasn't afraid to meet him this time. And he honestly didn't remember when _that_ had last happened to him.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley was ten minutes early, just because he didn't want to make Aziraphale wait for him. 

His parents had sent him off with a smile, happy that their son was going out two days in a row, even though Crowley hadn't told them that he was having company both times. “I'm going to the movies” hadn't been a lie – and his parents knew how much he loved the cinema, so they hadn't been suspicious about this – but it had subtly avoided mentioning he was going there with Aziraphale. 

Crowley wasn't ready yet to confront them with this new person in his life who had grown so important to him in just a few days time. Firstly because he himself couldn't cope with this situation entirely yet, and secondly because he feared his parents would try and protect him from making yet another false friend, which would definitely be the wrong move because Aziraphale was so different than the former 'friends' of Crowley had been. And also, thirdly, because he feared they might instead turn on their full 'friendly parents' mode and practically adopt Aziraphale, make him uncomfortable, and scare him away. Both of these options weren't really what Crowley was looking for here.

For the first time now, he was the one who had to wait for Aziraphale.

On the bus-ride, Aziraphale had been there before him. Then, Aziraphale had found him in the flower shop. He had waited for Crowley there for his break so they could have a coffee together. And then Aziraphale had waited for him in the park yesterday. 

Admittedly, Crowley had always been the one waiting for Aziraphale to initiate text messages. But it was something different to stand here and wait for him to show up in person. To know he would see him soon. That he would physically be here.

How would he look like this time? What would he wear his hair like? How would he dress? He would probably look gorgeous, as always. Crowley tried to avoid thinking about how long it had taken himself to look good enough to leave the house again at all earlier today. Now he was wearing a dark blue shirt and jeans that were so dark they looked almost black. To prevent it all from looking too formal, he had rolled up the sleeves and had left the first and last button unbuttoned. And if that wasn't enough yet, his tousled hair would do the rest – but that was its natural state, anyway.

His thoughts distracted him so much instead of preparing him for Aziraphale's arrival that when Aziraphale actually came in sight, it startled him completely. 

He _did_ look gorgeous. 

He had pulled the top-front of his hair back into a tail, like Legolas from Lord of the Rings, just without braiding it. There probably was a fancy name for that sort of hairstyle, but Crowley didn't know of it. All he knew was that it suited Aziraphale fantastically.

As their eyes met, Aziraphale beamed at him happily and warmly, as if they hadn't met each other in months and he had waited all this time to finally be able to see Crowley again in the flesh. Crowley couldn't help but to smile back, even though in his case, it looked a bit shy at the edges.

“Heeeey!” Aziraphale warbled. Before Crowley knew it, the other boy had wrapped his arms around him for a quick but very committed hug. Crowley smelled his sweet, warm and earthy scent, something like vanilla, honey, roses and peaches. It lingered in the back of Crowley's nose from there on and he would forever associate it with happiness.

“Sorry, I'm a bit late!” Aziraphale said, but Crowley was still distracted by his scent and his warm body pressed against his own, and didn't really hear any of it anyway. “Have you been waiting for long?”

Crowley made a sound that could have passed as anything.

“Let's go inside! Do you want popcorn? I never manage to eat a whole bag, but we could share if you like!”

Crowley always managed to eat a whole bag, but he nodded weakly. Aziraphale could have asked him for his liver right now and he would have said yes.

Aziraphale beamed at him once more, his face still far too close to Crowley's own, and then he _grabbed Crowley's hand_ and pulled him along into the building. 

Crowley felt his heart beating all the way down to his toes. It pulsed in his ears and in his fingertips, and filled his entire head with its throbbing. Aziraphale's hand was so soft and so warm. It fit into Crowley's hand perfectly. And he definitely never wanted to let go of it again.

Aziraphale kept on babbling while they walked through the foyer, but Crowley hardly understood any of it. He half realised that Aziraphale paid for both of their tickets, so he hurried to slip the money for the popcorn and a cup of coke over the counter to make up for it, even though it was less than what Aziraphale had paid for the both of them. Aziraphale seemed to be content with it, though, and his fingers started stealing bits of popcorn out of the bag as soon as Crowley had taken it into his arm.

By now, they had let go of each other's hands, because they both had had to fumble for their wallets. But Crowley still felt the warmth of Aziraphale's palm and fingers on his hand, like an invisible marking.

He hardly said anything as they went for the theatre and searched for their seats, let Aziraphale do the talking and listened to it. They sat down next to each other, Crowley on Aziraphale's right, and they shared their popcorn and the coke, and when the movie started, Aziraphale stopped talking, but Crowley still heard him beside him, grabbing some popcorn, laughing at jokes. Sometimes, Crowley looked at him by turning his head a little without being suspicious, watching the colourful light from the screen flicker over his features. 

He was far too distracted to pay full attention to the movie, but it at least helped to also distract his full attention from Aziraphale so that, by the end of the film, he had calmed down enough to be considered functional again. When Aziraphale smiled at him and asked if he was ready for pizza now, Crowley actually managed to smile back.

Aziraphale went for a pee-break, but Crowley, despite having to go himself, waited outside. There was no way he could go to the toilet with Aziraphale, not even in stalls far away from each other. He would wait until after they had ordered their pizza and then go in the restaurant. That was a much better idea then dying from being so ashamed.

Aziraphale smiled at him again when he came back and once more grabbed Crowley's left hand. His hand was cool from washing it, but it still felt nice. This time, Crowley managed not to lapse into complete brain failure again. Still, he was very sure that he blushed and that the little smile he couldn't keep from crawling up the corners of his mouth looked utterly idiotic.

“Shall we, then?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley nodded. ”Excellent! Popcorn is awesome, but it's not really satiable, is it?”

Crowley couldn't argue with that. He could almost always eat, and so could, it seemed, Aziraphale.

They left the theatre, still hand in hand, and walked down the road a few meters until they reached the pizzeria. It was an inviting, comfortable-looking building with dark wooden tables and red chairs and curtains, and bright floors, walls and ceiling. They got a table near the window and sat down while the waitress lit the candle for them. Then they took a moment to study the menu.

“Do you drink wine?” Aziraphale wanted to know, and Crowley remembered how he had told him about his wine glass tattoo and how he had admitted that he liked drinking wine a lot.

He shrugged slightly. “Sometimes,” he lied. It wasn't that he didn't drink alcohol, but it hardly ever was in the form of wine.

“Oh, great. I'll order us a bottle then, alright? Unless you want something else, of course!”

Again, Crowley just shrugged and hummed something that could have been an affirmation. If Aziraphale wanted wine, they would get wine. He probably knew which kind was the good stuff.

“Have you been here before?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah, once or twice,” Crowley replied. 

“What is good here? I'm not sure whether to go for pizza or for pasta.”

“Definitely pizza,” Crowley recommended. “I don't know how the pasta is, but the pizza is really good. You don't want to miss that.”

Aziraphale smiled and nodded. “Alright then,” he said. 

When the waitress came to their table again, Aziraphale ordered them a bottle of red wine whose name Crowley had already forgotten before Aziraphale had even finished saying it, and a pizza with artichokes for himself which startled Crowley so much that he almost forgot his own order. He had never dared to think that there were actually people who ordered artichokes on their pizza. Crowley had never even tried artichokes in his life, but he imagined them to be something that really didn't belong on a pizza. But at least it wasn't pineapple, so he probably could still be friends with Aziraphale.

For himself, Crowley ordered a pepperoni pizza, and then he quickly excused himself to go to the restrooms before Aziraphale could involve him in a conversation. He really needed to pee, but he didn't want to interrupt their talking.

He quickly washed his face too while he was at it because it somehow felt sticky and uncomfortable. The prospect of talking to Aziraphale didn't scare him as much as it had only yesterday, but it still was pretty stressful for him compared to just lounging on his bed with Bentley and watching his favourite series. He enjoyed it a lot, but it also was exhausting.

When he came back, though, Aziraphale's smile repaid him for all the effort. He couldn't help but to smile back, happy to be shown such obvious joy of having his company. 

The wine had already arrived and it was delicious. They shared their first glass while they talked about the movie. Then they talked about movies in general. Then about stories altogether, no matter which media they were presented in. 

They had their pizza while they talked, too, and Crowley managed not to spill anything onto his shirt. Aziraphale had a very elegant way of folding his pizza slice almost in half to eat it better, and an absolutely sinful way of licking the cheese away from his fingertips. Also, his lips turned red from the grease and it was the most beautiful sight Crowley had ever gotten to behold.

The wine made Crowley forget about his issues soon. He became more open, talked more, laughed more. Aziraphale responded to it with absolute delight, giggling and discussing things with him that Crowley would never have expected anyone to talk about with him seriously. Crowley had a talent to analyse things to their core, transform them into abstract constructs, and value them from different angles. Aziraphale was the first person he knew who could keep up with that part of himself and play back to it effortlessly. It was exciting.

They forgot the time over their conversation. Aziraphale didn't finish his pizza and got a doggy-bag, but he ordered dessert for himself nevertheless. Crowley got some as well, and so they continued their talking over tiramisu and ice cream with strawberries. 

The bottle of wine on their table became emptier. The conversations they had didn't end. Crowley couldn't remember ever having had such a pleasant time in his life and he had never dared to imagine he could have this. Talking to someone who valued him and took him seriously. Who found him interesting and nice to talk to. Who was friendly and open, but also critical and analytic, and who listened to what Crowley was saying. It was like a fairytale becoming reality, and Crowley felt himself becoming even more attached to Aziraphale with every moment they shared and every word that they spoke together.

It could have been a perfect evening.

But then Aziraphale's phone rang.

And suddenly, their night out proved to be very real again.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale first looked confused – no, almost shocked – when his phone rang. Then, his face turned into a grimace as he checked who the caller was.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he grumbled and Crowley nodded, almost numbed by the sudden change of atmosphere. He realised that he hadn't checked his own phone for hours. It was on silent. Maybe he should change that.

“Hey,” he heard Aziraphale say on the phone while he tried to get his own device out of his pocket. As he saw the time, he almost died of a heart attack. It was a quarter to 11 already. The restaurant would close in only 15 minutes. No wonder the waiters kept looking at them funnily. They probably wanted them to finally leave.

Crowley had four missed calls and three text messages from his parents. They were probably already at the police station, filing a missing person's report. Oh God. He needed to contact them immediately.

Since he felt too embarrassed to do this in front of Aziraphale, he sent a text message to both of his parents instead. Knowing them, they would both have their phones with them right now, waiting for the tiniest notice from their faithless son.

He quickly punched a message into his phone, his cheeks burning hot with shame and panic.

_ >>I'm okay!! eating with friend in restaurant. will explain later. coming home soon, promise. love u <3<< _

Across from him, Aziraphale was audibly annoyed as he tried to explain to the caller that he had simply forgotten the time and it wasn't even _that_ late yet. Crowley was distracted as only a few seconds after his message had been sent, he already received a reply from his mother.

_ >>Thank God, we were so worried! Call us if we need to pick you up! Don't be too late!<< _

Crowley almost cried right there and then because he was so deeply ashamed and so sorry for worrying his parents so much. 

They had constantly been worried when he had started to hang out with the wrong friends a couple of years ago. When they had pressured him into staying out late with them. When he had been too afraid to tell his parents where he had been. He didn't want to start this hurtful behaviour all over again – hurtful for both them and for Crowley. And also, he didn't want them to think Aziraphale was just as bad as his old 'friends'. He wanted his parents to know he was having a _good_ time out with him for once.

_> >I'm fine, really<<_ he managed to type while fighting back tears, biting his lip hard. _> >I'm in good company. I'll be home soon<<_

Luckily, Aziraphale didn't even notice Crowley's struggle with his leaden conscience. He was still arguing with who Crowley assumed to be Gabriel.

“Fine!” he heard him grunt. “Do that if you seriously have to! Yes! Yes! Goodbye! Thanks!”

He hung up and groaned exasperatedly.

“My uncle is coming to pick us up,” he grumbled and waved at a waitress so she would bring their bill. “I hope that's okay. Gabriel insisted on bringing you home as well, because it's late and all. I'm sorry. He is unstoppable when it comes to that.”

Crowley blinked and swallowed away his pain and nodded slightly. “It's okay,” he mumbled hoarsely. Actually, he was very thankful for that opportunity. Then he didn't have to take the bus. That would take much longer.

“We can go walk in his direction,” Aziraphale sighed and checked the bill. Crowley was so smitten by guilt that it didn't even occur to him to get out his wallet and pay for his own food. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind and just handed over a credit card while he kept on talking. “We should be able to make it to Barrot's Corner before he gets there, then he can take a left-turn there and we'll be faster.”

Crowley only nodded again. He felt like he was in trance; a trance of really bad conscience, shame, and anxiety. He wanted to get home real badly and talk to his parents now. His fingers trembled as he stowed away the phone in his pocket.

Aziraphale paid their bill and got up, thanking the waitress and wishing her a good night. Crowley followed after him to the exit and was happy to find fresh and cool air outside that he could breathe in deeply and that soothed his hot cheeks. Still, he felt terrible. It was good they could walk a bit; he would have died just sitting around waiting somewhere.

As they walked down the street, Aziraphale kept on venting his anger. Crowley was quite thankful about it, because he himself was drowning in bad feelings and this way, he didn't have to talk at all. 

Apparently, Aziraphale was angry that his uncles were worried and had called him to check on him when it had gotten too late. Crowley thought that to be a very fair reaction when your 19-year-old nephew didn't come home at night and hadn't told them where he was. But Aziraphale seemed pretty grumpy about it. Crowley let him rant and walked along beside him quietly.

Shortly before they reached Barrot's Corner, Aziraphale sent a text to his uncles to inform them they would be waiting for them there. But when they came closer, Aziraphale noticed that his uncle's car was already waiting for them instead, standing in the middle of a no-parking area. It was a silver car that screamed _expensive_. There wasn't a speck of dirt ruining its perfect body.

Aziraphale opened the back door, much to Crowley's surprise. He had thought Aziraphale would sit in the front to argue with his uncle, but he didn't. He just uttered a short “Hi” as he climbed in the car, then fastened his seatbelt and remained quiet. Crowley sat down on the other side, mumbling a shy “Hello” as well.

The man sitting behind the steering wheel was extremely good-looking. His hair was stylishly tousled and he had a light scruff, and even though he was wearing casual clothes, they looked more fancy and expensive than even Crowley's really good clothes did.

He smiled at Crowley, warm and friendly.

“Hello, you must be Crowley,” he said as he started the car. “My name is Raphael. I'm Aziraphale's uncle.”

“He knows that,” Aziraphale stated beside him. Crowley still gave Raphael a shy smile back. He seemed genuinely nice and caring. Crowley liked him somehow, even though he didn't know him really.

Raphael ignored Aziraphale's grumbling and pulled his car back onto the street. “Can you give me your address?” he asked Crowley.

Crowley told him.

“Ah, that's really not far from us,” Raphael commented, sounding happily surprised. “Alright, then we should be there in around 10 minutes.”

Crowley nodded slightly. He looked out of the window while Raphael drove, watching the buildings, cars and bright lights pass them by as they went. Aziraphale seemed to do the same beside him. All three of them were perfectly quiet.

When they arrived at the building that Crowley lived in, Raphael stopped at the side of the road and smiled again.

“It was nice to meet you, Crowley,” he said, even though they hadn't talked at all on the ride. “I hope we'll see each other again soon.”

Crowley only smiled and nodded helplessly and turned his head to Aziraphale. But the other boy had already gotten out of the car. Confused, Crowley got out of there as well and went around it to where Aziraphale stood. He looked unhappy. Crowley felt a sting in his heart at the sight of him.

“I'm really sorry this happened,” Aziraphale mumbled, so that Raphael couldn't hear him inside of the car. “I didn't watch the time. I hope you won't get in trouble with your parents”

“It's not your fault,” Crowley assured him. He was too troubled to feel even more panic right now because Aziraphale was feeling so bad as well. There was only so high a level his anxiety could climb to and it had already reached its peak for today. 

Aziraphale studied him with a worried look. “Will you be alright?” he asked.

Crowley nodded.

“Okay... Call me tomorrow, alright? Whenever you want. I'll be there.”

Crowley nodded again.

Aziraphale studied him for a moment longer. Then he bent forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled again. “Really.” Then he got back into the car.

Crowley watched as the car drove away, frozen to the pavement. Only the spot where Aziraphale had kissed him was pulsing hotly, pulsing, pulsing...

Crowley started to cry. He got out his keys and opened the front door, then walked up the stairs to their apartment and unlocked that as well. His parents were there in an instant, wrapping all four of their arms around him and talking at him worriedly, soothingly.

“I'm so sorry,” was all Crowley could manage to say to them. He repeated it over and over again, sobbing, cradled in their arms. 

He had fucked up. He had worried his parents. He had made Aziraphale's uncles angry. He had made Aziraphale concerned as well. And yet he had still kissed him on the cheek. As if Crowley was worth it. But he wasn't. He wasn't worth it. He had fucked it all up. Again. He wasn't worth it. No, he wasn't...

He didn't remember how he ended up in a blanket on the sofa, with a purring Bentley in his lap and a hot cup of tea in his hands, flanked by his parents who both had their arms around him. It was past midnight by now and tomorrow was Monday. His parents had to work. Crowley fucked up their schedule entirely.

“I'm so sorry,” he mumbled again. “We forgot the time. I didn't check my phone. It was on silent. I'm sorry I worried you again. I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, darling,” his mum assured him and stroked his hair. “You're home now and you're fine. That's all that matters.”

Crowley hummed lowly and petted Bentley who playfully swatted at his fingers.

“Aziraphale is nice,” he said lowly. “He really is. Far too nice. You don't have to worry about me being with him, I promise.”

“Who is this Aziraphale?” his father asked. “You didn't tell us about him. Is he your friend?”

“He is –“ Crowley stopped and pressed his lips together. What should he tell his parents? What _was_ Aziraphale, anyway? A guy he had just met a week ago? A guy he'd had exactly four encounters with? A friend? A stranger? A... 

He remembered Aziraphale's kiss. How he had held Crowley's hand around the theatre. How they had shared their popcorn. How he had smiled at Crowley...

“I don't know,” he said and rubbed both of his eyes. “I like him. He is a good person. He is making me feel happy when I'm with him.”

His parents were quiet for a moment and Crowley felt stupid. Stupid for not having told them earlier. Stupid for being so attached to somebody he had met on a bus ride only six days ago. 

“Then you should invite him over for dinner soon, darling,” his mother suggested. Crowley could hear the slight concern in her voice even though she sounded mostly warm and enthusiastic. She was the best mum in the whole wide world. She wanted to meet the person that her Crowley liked so much.

“Yeah, maybe,” Crowley said and scritched Bentley's ears. Right now, he felt too bad about himself to dare and think Aziraphale would still like him after tonight's happenings. He was tired, depressed and disillusioned. He felt like he had fucked up by making Aziraphale and his uncles angry with each other. By disappointing his parents again. By being a bad son and a bad boyfriend. Who on earth would want to come over for dinner to him? Who would still want him around if they could prevent it?

And even _if_ he still wanted to be around Crowley, maybe Crowley should let him go. For Aziraphale's sake. Before he hurt him with being such a terrible person.

“I really need to go to bed now,” he determined, before his disastrous thoughts could get the upper hand in this. He knew he was irrational right now. But he couldn't help it.

His parents nodded and kissed him on the head. He felt bad as well that they loved him so much. He was a terrible son and they deserved so much better. Everyone deserved so much better. Except maybe Bentley. He was good in giving cuddles, if nothing else, he reckoned. 

He buried his face in her fur once more, listening to his music while he tried to fall asleep. Not Queen, this time. He couldn't listen to Queen right now.

Shortly before he finally found some sleep, completely exhausted from all his anxiety and panic, he wondered what Aziraphale was telling his uncles about him. Who Crowley was. _What_ Crowley was. What was he for him? He wished he would know.

Then he fell asleep, a dark and dreamless sleep, and when he woke up again, Bentley was gnawing at the corner of his pillow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE ANGST ToT  
> Crowley will be fine in the end, I promise ;_;


	9. Chapter 9

Raphael and Aziraphale didn't talk for the handful of minutes that it took them to get from Crowley's place to their own home. They lived in their own house with their own little front garden and two parking spaces on their property. Raphael parked his car next to Gabriel's. Aziraphale got out and made his way over to the front door.

Raphael followed him quietly. Normally, he always had a comment for everything, but he knew when things were serious. 

Gabriel was already waiting in the entry hall. His face was dark, a mixture of anger and worry. Aziraphale met his eyes anyway. His own face was dark with rage and defiance.

“We were worried,” Gabriel said. Calmly. He was always calm, especially when he was troubled by something.

“I'm 19 years old, I can look out for myself,” Aziraphale spat back.

“You are living with us and we are responsible for you,” Gabriel claimed. “You can go out as often and as long as you want, but we want to know where you are and when you'll be home.”

“I'm not a child! Not _your_ child, anyway!”

“That doesn't mean we aren't worried when you don't come home.”

“That's your problem, not mine!”

“Why do you get so angry just because I called to ask if you're okay?”

“Because you ruined my evening!” Aziraphale shouted. 

Gabriel frowned, hurt, confused and not sure what to say now. 

They often got into fights with each other. And they always ended with Aziraphale storming off angrily.

Gabriel watched helplessly as his nephew rushed past him to his room upstairs. He looked over at Raphael pleadingly. Raphael sighed and came over to him.

“I'll go,” he said and kissed his husband on the cheek softly. “Don't worry. He's just concerned about Crowley and about their relationship.”

“I didn't even know he had a relationship...” Gabriel mumbled. “Why does he never tell me anything...”

Raphael gave him another kiss and patted his chest in consolation. He always was the middleman between the two brawlers. Both of them were too pigheaded to ever truly speak their issues out with one another, so Raphael had to calm them both down. 

He made his way upstairs and knocked against the door to Aziraphale's room.

“No!” it came from inside.

“It's me. I just want to know if you're alright.”

“No, I'm not!”

“Can I come in?”

There was no reply. Raphael opened the door anyway and walked into the room. 

Aziraphale was sitting on his bed, face buried in his manicured hands. He was shaking softly, but Raphael didn't know whether it was from anger or from crying. He sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder soothingly.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

Aziraphale sobbed, but when he spoke, his voice didn't sound like he was crying.

“Did you see Crowley's face when I left him?” he asked. “He looked devastated. He was so scared after the phone call. And we were having such a good time before!”

“Why was he scared?” Raphael asked and gently stroked Aziraphale's hair. He so often behaved like a grown-up, but sometimes, you could tell he really was still a 19-year-old boy.

“I don't know!” Aziraphale sniffed. “He is so scared all the time. He's sensitive. You have to be careful with him. But... He's the first person I ever liked! The first person who likes _me!_ Everyone always thinks I'm a boring smart-arse who dresses weirdly and reads too many books, but he's different! He's interesting! He cares about me! He's smart and he's nice and he's funny, but I think that phone call scared him away.”

Raphael hummed lowly and leaned against Aziraphale slightly to comfort him with his warmth. “He really sounds great,” he said. 

“He is,” Aziraphale muttered. 

It had been a long time since Raphael had seen him so down. Aziraphale very often got very angry, but he very seldom got very desperate.

“Why do you think Crowley was so scared by the phone call?”

“I don't know...”

“Do you think _you_ did something that scared him?”

“No. I don't know. Maybe he was scared because I got angry.”

“Why did you get angry?”

“Because Gabriel ruined our evening!”

Raphael softly squeezed Aziraphale's shoulder. He was always quick to blame his uncle for everything. 

Weirdly, Aziraphale was obsessed with Gabriel far more than with his real father. Ever since they had first seen each other, those two had been drawn to each other and had developed a very special relationship. Gabriel was what Aziraphale wanted to be, and Aziraphale idolised him to perfection because of that. He was his role model, but put on an unreachable high pedestal, so that Aziraphale couldn't live up to the expectations he himself put up for his life. In reaction, he got angry at himself and blamed Gabriel for being far too perfect. Everything Gabriel did, every comment he made, Aziraphale attributed with criticism. Gabriel couldn't say a thing without Aziraphale believing it to be a hidden valuation of his own deeds – a negative one, mostly. He wanted to gain Gabriel's praise and approval so badly. But he believed his own standards – the exaggerated and unrealistic ones – to be the ones Gabriel had for him, too. And so, in his eyes, he failed all the time in gaining them, and believed Gabriel to see it the same way. Which Gabriel didn't realise. All he saw was his nephew getting angry at him for absolutely nothing, and that saddened and confused him constantly. But neither of the two were able to communicate their problems. Sometimes, it was driving Raphael insane.

“Gabriel loves you,” he said and ignored Aziraphale's snorting. “He didn't know you were out on a date. He was worried. Just like you are worried about the person you love right now.”

“I don't love Crowley,” Aziraphale grumbled.

“No?” Raphael asked, a tiny bit teasingly. “Not even a little bit?”

Aziraphale grunted. Raphael grinned and squeezed him slightly.

“Listen,” he said softly and leaned his cheek against Aziraphale's head. “People only react heavily to things that matter to them. That means you matter to Crowley. And you will be able to figure this all out. Nothing bad has happened.”

“I hope so...” Aziraphale mumbled. “I really don't want him to hurt... And I really don't want to lose him, either...”

“I know, sweetheart,” Raphael said and squeezed him again. “But trust me, he'll be fine. And so will you.”

Aziraphale grunted again. Raphael felt sorry for him. He seemed so helpless and deeply concerned for Crowley. That meant a lot coming from Aziraphale, who usually was an absolute lone wolf. Crowley really had to be someone special.

“I will make you a hot cocoa,” Raphael offered. “How does that sound?”

“Yeah, why not,” Aziraphale mumbled. Cocoa always helped to make him feel better. It was one of the secrets that made it possible to handle his moodiness.

“Okay, be right back,” Raphael said and kissed him on the head. Then he got up and left the room to make him the cocoa.

Of course, Gabriel was a dithering mess downstairs. He couldn't cope with his nephew being upset, and it troubled him to think that his call might have been the cause for his misery. 

It took all of Raphael's long-trained skills to convince him, while he made cocoa, that it hadn't been Gabriel's fault, that he had been right to worry about his nephew and to call him, and that Aziraphale was simply a teenager who was in love for the first time and was overly sensitive. Also, Crowley obviously suffered from anxiety, which made the whole situation more delicate than it actually was. Raphael had studied quite a bit of medical science and psychology and knew what was up with that kind of stuff.

Of course, Gabriel didn't feel any less worried by all of that, and insisted on taking the cocoa up to Aziraphale himself. Raphael let him. Those two had a lot of things to work out with each other, anyway.

  
  


  
  


When Gabriel came into the room with a tray with cocoa and some cookies on it, Aziraphale glared at him. Gabriel never knew if his nephew was actually angry at him or had just made it a principle to be pissed with his uncle. Whatever it was, it hurt him deeply. He tried his best to show Aziraphale how much he loved and adored him, but he often felt like he couldn't do anything right with Aziraphale. He smiled at him anyway and placed the tray down on the office chair so he could wheel it towards the bed.

“Here,” he said. ”The real deal, with cream and a bit of cinnamon on top. And I brought your favourite cookies. Since I guess I have to apologise big time to you.”

Aziraphale grumbled something. 

“I can take care of myself,” he said then and grabbed the mug with the cocoa. It was his favourite mug. Gabriel had put up the heavy ordnance here. “You don't have to treat me like a child.”

“I'm sorry,” Gabriel said. “I would have called Raphael as well in that situation. I just didn't know where you were, I thought something might have happened.”

“Well, it didn't.”

“No. But I couldn't have known that.”

Aziraphale snorted and took a sip of his cocoa. He was still grumpy, but in a much calmer way now. He wasn't yelling at Gabriel anymore, he was only grumbling. Maybe he had accepted the apology or had realised Gabriel really hadn't done anything that bad. But Aziraphale never admitted something like that. He just stopped arguing or changed the subject.

Gabriel sat down next to him and grabbed one of the cookies. 

“What's Crowley like?” he asked and nibbled at the baked good. He was never sure what he could or should ask Aziraphale without irritating him again. No matter what he said, his nephew seemed to see it as an attack and became aggressively defensive.

Aziraphale shrugged slightly. He didn't like to talk about things he wasn't 100% in control of, Gabriel knew, because he feared being caught defeated, disappointed, or hurt too much. Gabriel should only see the successful bits about his life. 

“He's great,” he said, simply. “He's really nice and smart and interesting. I like him.”

Aziraphale never liked anybody. Or, rather, it took a whole lot to make Aziraphale like you. Gabriel had only ever heard him talk nicely about his teachers or professors, about authors, public figures or historical persons. But never in his life had Aziraphale had a true friend from his own peer group. If he liked Crowley, he sure had to be somebody special.

Gabriel nodded at his nephew's reply.

“If it helps, I will apologise to him as well,” he offered. He didn't want to be the reason Aziraphale lost his first and only friend.

But Aziraphale shook his head at the suggestion.

“It's okay,” he claimed and licked some cream away from his upper lip. “I can handle this alone. I have to wait for how Crowley reacts to all this now.”

Gabriel nodded again, a bit concerned. To himself, this situation was completely over the top, a blown-up teenage drama that was no drama at all because absolutely nothing bad had happened in any way. But he felt like for Aziraphale, it was extremely important, and it troubled him that so much depended on it for his beloved nephew.

“I know you can,” he said. “But if there is anything Raphael or I can help you with, you can always come to us, alright?”

“I can handle this,” Aziraphale repeated. Even being offered help seemed to imply to him that he couldn't take care of himself, wasn't good enough in Gabriel's eyes. 

Gabriel sighed and placed his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. He pulled him close and pressed a kiss on his hair.

“I know you can,” he told him again. “You're strong and capable and I'm proud of you. But sometimes, I feel really useless regarding you. And then I feel old and overcome. So I'm offering my help anyway, to make myself feel better.”

Aziraphale grunted, but he didn't reply. Gabriel pressed another kiss on his hair and rubbed his shoulder soothingly.

“I love you,” he whispered and kissed him once more. “I love you and I'm proud of you and I'm always there to support you, even though you can do it alone.”

“I love you too,” Aziraphale grumbled lowly, but even if it sounded annoyed, he had said it, and that meant a lot. 

Gabriel kissed him again and smiled to himself. 

“There's a screening of _Carmen_ starting in about ten minutes. Raphael and I wanted to watch it. Do you want to join us?”

“At a quarter to midnight on a Sunday? Don't you guys have to work tomorrow?”

Gabriel shrugged. “We can call in tomorrow to say we're working from home. Raphael has a meeting later, but that doesn't start until 1 o'clock.”

Aziraphale grunted again. He probably knew that Gabriel was only suggesting watching _Carmen_ together so Aziraphale would have an opportunity not to be alone right now and to distract himself from his unpleasant feelings. But it was a good enough excuse to give in to it without seeming to need company and distraction. You always needed to give Aziraphale this chance of justifying his actions.

“I'll think about it,” he stated. 

“Good.” Gabriel nodded and got up, rubbing Aziraphale's back in the motion. 

Then he left the room to tell Raphael they would have to watch _Carmen_ now and make a lazy day of tomorrow. Raphael didn't even ask why that was. He was the best husband and uncle in the entire universe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yay! :)  
> I would love to hear how you like the switch of perspective!  
> And what you think of the three Angels!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have two more new chapters ready now, but idk when I'll be able to write again.  
> I'm having a very real and serious existential crisis atm and hardly any time/energy/mental capacity to create anything of value.  
> So please be a bit patient with me as I try to stretch posting the next two chapters so you won't have to wait for new ones too long after that.

Aziraphale fell asleep on the sofa. Gabriel lovingly covered him in a blanket before he switched off the TV and left for the bedroom with Raphael by his side.

When Aziraphale woke up, it was already half past 9 (which was late for him, he normally got up around 8), but he still stayed rolled up on the sofa for a little while longer. 

He checked his phone. 

There was no message from Crowley yet.

When he got up and went to the kitchen, Raphael was still sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He smiled at Aziraphale as he came in.

“Good morning,” he said and immediately shoved the part of the newspaper over that he had already read. There was nothing of his usual slightly teasing, slightly joking air about him right now. Just a warm smile and a lot of caring as he poured his nephew a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” Aziraphale mumbled. His voice sounded a bit hoarse from sleeping. He was sure that his hair stood out in every direction, too.

He grabbed his mug and the newspaper and took his trusty pen that he always used to do his matutinal crossword puzzle with. When he wasn't here, it was Gabriel's to do in the morning. But his uncle allocated it to him whenever Aziraphale stayed with them.

“Where's Gabriel?” he asked as he thumped the pen on the tabletop to make the tip come out to write with it.

“He's already gone. They wanted him in for an important issue this morning. But he'll be back before I leave and work the rest of the day from home. Or take a nap first, probably. You know him, he couldn't say No to getting there, despite his intention to call in sick.”

Aziraphale grunted and took a sip of his coffee. He felt a bit guilty for having been the reason Gabriel had stayed up so late and was exhausted now. All the more because it had been due to Aziraphale not having himself and his emotions under control yesterday. A heavy failure. He shouldn't have gotten so angry at Gabriel, he should have stayed impassive; then everyone, including Crowley, would have gotten off better from this entire situation.

“Got any plans for today?” Raphael wanted to know. It sounded casual, but Aziraphale knew he was subtly checking on Aziraphale's state with this question. 

“Reading, probably,” he replied. He was reading in any state of mind, so the answer was completely neutral. His tone was overly casual as well, though, to let Raphael know he was onto him. “Maybe preparing for uni a little. We'll see.”

Raphael nodded. “Sounds great,” he said. 

Aziraphale hummed a 'Damn right, it does'-hum and began to fill out his crossword puzzle. Raphael was the first person he showed vulnerability to. His parents were nice and supportive and gentle, but Raphael was all that plus actually factual, reasonable and helpful. But still, Aziraphale wanted to be left alone in this one. He wouldn't be caught with a heartbreak. Not from Raphael, not from anyone.

After breakfast and finishing the puzzle (the parts he couldn't fill out, Gabriel would go for), he had a shower and then got dressed. There was still no message from Crowley when he checked his phone for the fourth time. He had sworn himself to play it cool, but he excused himself with maybe having missed the message tone. You never knew, checking was always better.

He started to read a book then. Something from Oscar Wilde, because that always calmed him down. It felt like home, and at home, you were safe.

But he soon noticed his attention slipping away, the all too familiar words just passing by his zoned out mind. 

So he started another book, one that was fresh and unread and still new and exciting. 

But he soon noticed his attention slipping away from that one too, making him read sentences four times in a row and still missing the point of them, so he closed it and put it away on his book pile.

There was still no message from Crowley.

Aziraphale stared at his phone for a while, running his thumb over the screen repeatedly. 

He had often wondered what was wrong with other people. Because he refused to believe something was wrong with himself. He had always been different, from an early age on. Kids in kindergarten hadn't liked to play with him. Especially not after he had shoved David into the pond for not wanting to kiss him back. He had been the gay guy, the weird guy, the guy with the long hair and the manicured nails, with the peculiar fashion style and the love for books – but not _good_ books, not the kind other people read, – with sophisticated knowledge about things nobody cared about, but with absolutely no idea about the things his peers were interested in. He was annoyed by people, by their shallowness and stupidity, by how boring, and flat, and small-minded they were. He did believe in kindness and in helping people, he was always friendly and obliging to others, but, in almost all of the cases, he was disappointed in what he got back in return. 

So he stayed away from people, usually. Yes, he talked to them and worked with them and he was neither shy nor was he reserved or hid himself away from others. But he didn't talk to them with the intent to become friends, he wasn't open about himself in the hopes somebody would like what they saw and want to learn more. He didn't care about them and he didn't want them around. He was okay with this, he got along just fine.

But then Crowley had happened. And he had been different.

Aziraphale hadn't felt judged by him. All people judged him, even if they didn't say so. Even the nicest and kindest of them secretly thought him weird, and although they might accept that or even encourage it, the judgement was always there, unspoken, and he felt it. If people were interested in him, they usually were so because of his quirkiness, like a strange animal they wanted to pet.

But Crowley had been genuine. He was interested in Aziraphale as a person, not as an attraction. He listened to what Aziraphale had to say because he cared for it, not because it was part of the Weird Performance. He had looked at him in a way no one else had ever looked at him before. And Aziraphale liked him. He liked him very, very much.

He pressed the Home button and his phone lit up. There were no new messages. He frowned and bit his lower lip.

Had he been unclear about that yesterday night? Was Crowley waiting for _him_ to call? Or didn't he want to talk to Aziraphale? What should he do now? Call him? Or give him the time he needed to get in touch? 

He contemplated asking Raphael about it, but he by now had left for his meeting and he didn't want to text him and wait for an answer. He certainly wouldn't ask Gabriel about it, either. He should have read more romance novels, he mused, as he ran his hand over his forearm.

_ We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell,  _ the ink beneath his skin read. 

_ Maybe, if we are our own devil and create our own hell, I can be someone else's angel and create their heaven for them. _

He so badly wanted to create Crowley's heaven. But right now it felt like Crowley created Aziraphale's hell instead...

Aziraphale seldom cried. He hadn't as a kid and he wasn't now. Tears didn't get you anywhere, and he rather eliminated unpleasant situations than to break over them. But sometimes, things were out of your reach to change them, or the obstacle was so strong you couldn't fight against it, even with your best effort. Then, even Aziraphale felt overwhelmed and helpless, and when he felt overwhelmed and helpless, even Aziraphale would be seen crying.

It took a lot for him to get there, though. And he hadn't reached this point quite yet. So he activated his phone, opened his messages with Crowley, and typed a short text to show Crowley that  _ he _ definitely still wanted to talk to him.

_ >>Hey there. Sorry I got so angry yesterday. I overreacted. I hope you're okay? Love, Aziraphale<< _

Then he stared at the phone for a while, but there was no reaction. Maybe Crowley hadn't read it yet? Or he didn't want to reply. Who knew.

Aziraphale went to care for his books then. They were, of course, all extremely well taken care of already. A lot of his books were still at home with his parents, but he had brought his favourite and most important ones. They stood cover to cover on his bookshelves, sorted by author. The really precious and old ones he had, of course, left behind to sit in their special cabinets were they were safe from humidity, temperature change and sunlight. He missed them sometimes. But looking at the gorgeous collection Gabriel had in his library helped a little when it came to that.

Now, he carefully got all of the books off of their shelves, gently placed them on the bed, and then dusted them from every angle. Then he dusted the shelves as well and just as carefully put all of the books back in their place. Of course, all of that wasn't necessary. But Aziraphale really didn't know what else he should do.

When it was time for dinner, there still was no message from Crowley. Aziraphale tried to ignore the worry that gnawed at him eagerly as he ate his fish, half listening to what Raphael and Gabriel were talking about at the table. He knew they could tell he was unwell, no matter how hard he tried to cover it up. They were no fools. But they were smart enough to not let it show.

After dinner, Aziraphale happily let himself be talked into playing Bridge with his uncles and watching a movie with them on TV afterwards. He felt horrible throughout the entire time, but the need to act normal forced him to keep it together, and at least he had something to do that way, even though he could hardly focus on the film they were watching.

When he said Good Night afterwards, there was this look on Gabriel's face that showed how worried he was for his nephew, how sad he was that Aziraphale was hurting. It made him feel angry again, but he kept it inside. 

Unlike Crowley, he didn't feel guilty when his loved ones worried about him, he felt caught. When he wanted to approach somebody with his problems, he did so, and it was okay. But someone confronting him with his issues on their own? That felt like failing, and it really upset him.

In bed, he tried to read once more but again didn't come far. He checked his phone another several times, but there was no message. He thought about messaging Crowley again himself, but decided against it. He didn't want to pester him too much. Or maybe he was angry and Aziraphale would just upset him more. He had to wait for him to call first. No matter how hard it was to get through that.

He kept on staring at his book and trying to read until he was so tired that his eyes fell shut. When he woke up, the lamp had been turned off and the book was lying closed on his nightstand beside him. 

He checked his phone.

There was still no message from Crowley yet.

 


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Aziraphale had breakfast together with both of his uncles. The Crowley Affair hang silently between them for the entire time and it was horrible. His uncles were chatting like they usually did, but Aziraphale knew they really wanted to ask him if Crowley had called him yet, and it annoyed him. No, Crowley hadn't called him, thank you very much. That was exactly the reason why he hadn't told anyone about him yet.

Luckily, his uncles both left for work today, so Aziraphale didn't have to deal with their silent pity and concern. He decided he would leave the house as well today, because sitting around on his bed began to feel desperate. He would make himself some sandwiches, grab a book, and have a read in the park. Not the same park he had gone to with Crowley, of course. A different one. This city was luckily full of parks.

He took his time to get ready so he would be able to let Josephine into the house. Their housekeeper had her own key, but he liked saying Hello to her. She was a nice lady and Aziraphale had known her for almost six years now. Also, Gabriel had asked him to please tell her to do the laundry today, because there had been a wine-accident including one of his shirts. 

The doorbell rang at 10:50, which was just about right, because Josephine always came here at around 11. Aziraphale licked the cream cheese away from his fingertips and placed the butter knife down on the counter before he left the kitchen and went to get the front door. It confused him a little that Josephine wasn't opening the door herself yet. Usually, she rang the bell and then came inside herself. Maybe she had forgotten the keys.

“Good morning, Josephine,” he said as he opened the door. “It's nice seeing you, I hope that you have –“

He stopped dead in the middle of the sentence. The person standing in front of the door was not Josephine. They were younger and thinner than her, and they were a man. To be precise, they were actually Crowley.

Aziraphale stared at him, not sure what to say now.

A thunderstorm of emotions broke out in his chest. He was overwhelmed and happy, excited and thankful, but also confused and a good deal scared. What if Crowley was here to break up with him? Would he have come here to see him in person for that?

He looked miserable. His beautiful face was twisted in what Aziraphale believed to be a mixture of guilt and shame and panic. That look of panic was often there, Aziraphale knew it quite well by now. It always unsettled him, because he didn't know what had caused it or what to do to make it go away again. But from the moment he had first seen it, back on the bus ride one week ago, he had known he wanted to change that expression. He wanted to see Crowley smile and be happy. 

“Hey...” he managed to greet him. “Sorry, I thought you were our housekeeper...”

Crowley shook his head slightly. He shifted on his feet a bit awkwardly and rearranged something on his arms. Only now did Aziraphale notice that Crowley was holding a big flower pot.

“... What's this?” he asked. 

The whole situation felt unreal. Crowley looked so troubled and he really just wanted to take him in his arms, but he didn't know what Crowley had come here to talk about for, and he was too afraid to screw something up. Crowley had visited him on his own accord, so he probably had something planned here. Aziraphale wanted to give him the chance to pull it through, whatever it was.

“It's a flower,” Crowley answered lowly. He sounded shy and uncertain and also a bit embarrassed. “Or rather, it's a shrub... A rose shrub...”

“... A rose shrub?” Aziraphale repeated stupidly. “You brought me a rose shrub?”

“A wild rose shrub, actually,” Crowley murmured. “A Cinnamon Rose. They don't look like the typical, cultivated roses with all their overlapping petals, and they are way smaller, but I like them so much better than cultivated roses. They are not that cheesy and snobbish, you know... They are purer. They are wild and strong and free and grow wherever they want, however they want, and they are really beautiful, I think. Also, roses have so many meanings and are part of so many stories. So... I thought they could be your flower. So I brought you one. If you want it...”

Aziraphale stared at the little shrub of red roses in its pot, completely bewildered. “... My flower...?” he asked slowly.

Crowley flushed red and shifted again. His eyes hadn't met Aziraphale's ever since he had started talking about the flower.

“You asked me which flower I think would fit you,” he mumbled. “I thought about it real hard and I think it's this one... A wild rose... Red, because that means love, but also passion, and I think you are very passionate, so I thought –“

“You came here to bring me a shrub of wild, red roses which symbolise love and passion and freedom and strength and that you find beautiful?” Aziraphale made clear.

Crowley swallowed and clutched the flower pot. He looked so uncomfortable that it hurt Aziraphale's heart. 

This boy was a gift from heaven. Aziraphale had never met anyone this kind and vulnerable, this interested and open, this intelligent and witty, this creative and considerate, this wonderful. It must have cost Crowley all of his strength and courage to come here, but not only that, no. He had also gotten Aziraphale a rose shrub because he thought it was the perfect flower for him. He was the sweetest and most adorable being in the universe, and Aziraphale felt his heart contracting heavily due to how much he wanted to hug him.

He bent forward and softly took Crowley's face between his hands before he gently pulled it towards him and kissed him lightly on the lips. He felt Crowley tensing in surprise and giving the lowest wheeze. But something seemed to fall off of him, something about his demeanour changed, and Aziraphale thought he could feel him deflating in relief.

The kiss lasted a couple of seconds. When Aziraphale retreated, he brushed his thumbs over Crowley's warm skin, stroking his cheekbones.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “It is beautiful, really.”

He felt something wet touching his skin. Just as he wondered what on earth it could be, he heard Crowley shakily draw in a breath. He was crying.

“Aziraphale,” he said, voice tight. “I need to tell you something...”

Aziraphale felt his heart sinking to his stomach. That didn't sound good. Crowley seemed to seriously be troubled by something.

“Okay,” he responded. He was very worried about what Crowley had to say. Not only because of the effect it might have on him personally, but mostly because of the effect it seemed to already have on Crowley right now. He didn't want Crowley to suffer that much. Crowley deserved to feel safe and happy.

“Come inside. My uncles aren't home. I'll make us some tea, alright?”

Crowley only nodded. Aziraphale let go of him and held open the door. Crowley came into the house and looked around a bit lost. Aziraphale closed the door and pointed to the spot beside the umbrella stand.

“You can place the pot right there,” he offered. “And if you don't mind, could you take your shoes off, please? Thank you. You can go up to my room if you want while I make the tea. It's up the stairs and to the right, the door stands a bit open. I'll be right there, alright? Just make yourself comfortable. It won't take long.”

Crowley nodded again. He was visibly uneasy, but Aziraphale thought he would feel better in here, sitting down, having some tea, than he would telling Aziraphale something on the doorstep. So even though Aziraphale was burning to know what troubled Crowley so much, he went into the kitchen and put on the water boiler.

Josephine arrived when Aziraphale was just arranging the cups, milk, sugar and biscuits on a tray. He greeted her friendly but a bit reserved and told her about the laundry. Then he carried the tray upstairs into his room. 

Crowley was sitting on the bed. Light fell in through the window above it, illuminating him from behind. He looked like a fallen angel, still surrounded by its halo, but lost and broken and not knowing what to do. Again, the need to make this poor guy happy surged up in Aziraphale's insides, so much that he felt his stomach contracting. 

He put the tray down on the office chair and rolled it in front of Crowley.

“Here you go,” he said warmly and sat down on the bed. “Help yourself. If you need more of anything, I can get it for you.”

Crowley nodded again and was reaching for the tea mug. Aziraphale noticed his hand trembling slightly. He hoped that the warm beverage would help to calm him down.

He gently placed his hand on Crowley's back to soothe him and looked at him from the side expectantly. Whatever it was Crowley had to tell him, he would listen to it. But he imploringly hoped that it wouldn't be anything too bad.

Crowley took another moment to have a sip of his tea and rub his nose with a little sniffle. He had stopped crying, but it looked like he could start again any minute. Aziraphale lightly rubbed his back to reassure him and to hopefully make him feel better. He was here for him whatever he had to say.

When Crowley finally began to talk, he still stared at his tea mug and didn't dare to look at Aziraphale. But Aziraphale could hear the tremor in his voice and saw how his fingers clutched the mug handle desperately. He wished he could help him make it through all of this. But right now, he could only listen and let Crowley talk.

And talk he did.

And Aziraphale listened.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“I have always been pretty insecure,” Crowley began. “Also back when we lived in Manchester. I was bad at saying No and I was bad at standing up for myself. So all in all, I was a pretty easy target.

One day, I ran into the bad boys gang of our school. They called themselves the “Fallen Angels”. They recognised my potential instantly and instead of mocking me or turning me into their victim, they lured me into following them. They talked to me and I didn't know how to refuse them, so without really wanting it, I became one of them. I went to their parties, I sat with them during breaks, I hung around with them after school. They didn't do me any harm, but I knew they wouldn't tolerate me getting away from them. I was the shy boy they could order around. They knew I was too afraid not to do what they said.

Of course, following them had consequences. They expected me to jump whenever they called me, no matter where I was. I had to steal out of the house and away from my parents, sometimes in the middle of the night. I couldn't tell them what happened because I was too scared and too ashamed, and I didn't want to worry them. But of course, that only made them worry more. I hurt them very badly with my behaviour.

And I also hurt myself. I quietly stood by and did nothing when the gang bullied other students. I helped them slit the tires of our teacher's cars that they didn't like, or smash their windows. They did really nasty things sometimes, like blackmailing other students or anonymously threatening our teachers. I always tried to keep away from it, but sometimes, they explicitly asked me to do something, and then I had to, or I knew they would be after me. 

Now, that doesn't excuse anything. I'm a horrible person for doing that, but I just couldn't get myself out of it. I didn't know how, and I was too scared.

One day, my parents found out what was happening, because they checked my texts. I know they would never have done this if they hadn't been really worried. It was a big mess because I was so afraid of that gang and didn't want them to come after my parents. The police got involved, the school got involved, some of the guys got in real big trouble. Nobody knew it had been me, but I still was so afraid that I couldn't sleep at night and couldn't go to school any longer. So my parents –“

He stopped and started sobbing. 

“My parents quit their jobs and took all the money they had to move here,” he pressed out. “Just so I would be safe. They left everything that we had behind for me, because I had been a stupid idiot who – Just because I couldn't –“

He gave a strangled groan and sobbed again. Aziraphale wrapped is arm all the way around his back and placed the other one on his shoulder to hold him.

“Sssssh,” he whispered into his ear. “Ssssh. It's alright. It's alright, dear.”

“I hurt them,” Crowley mumbled, crying. “And I never wanted to hurt them again. But two days ago, they didn't know where I was. I hadn't checked my phone, I didn't contact them. They were so worried. And I just felt... so horribly, horribly bad again.”

He started sobbing once more. Aziraphale held him tight and stroked his back, letting him deal with his emotions patiently. He could only imagine what Crowley must have gone through. How scared he must be of other people now. How hard it must be for him to trust someone and open up.

And how guilty he must feel towards his parents to take them through all this worry all over again. He had never met Crowley's parents, but he admired them deeply for what they had done. They really must love their son with everything that they had and more, and they really must have been worried.

Aziraphale felt a slight pang of guilt himself for being so angry at Gabriel. Even without such a backstory, he must have been really worried about Aziraphale as well.

“I'm a mess,” Crowley muttered, startling Aziraphale out of his thoughts. “I've always been and I always will be. Everything scares me. I'm afraid of people and social interaction. I'm afraid of difficulties and doing something wrong. I have the self-confidence of... I basically have no self-confidence. I feel worthless and horrible and undeserving of being loved. I need constant reassurance, I need constant validation, and I need special treatment all the time in order to not freak out. You need to put so much work into me, and you will get basically nothing out of it. And I don't want to do this to anybody. Especially not to the people I love.”

Something heavy settled inside Aziraphale's stomach. He was so taken aback by Crowley's confession that he didn't really know what to say. In his eyes, Crowley was the most wonderful person on earth, and he couldn't fathom the fact Crowley thought so terribly little of himself. It hurt him to see Crowley hurt so much. And he wished more than ever that he could do something about it.

Throat tight, he reached around Crowley's face and gently stroked his tear-wet cheek.

“Crowley,” he uttered softly and pulled his body against himself. The other boy sniffled lowly and wrung his hands in restlessness. Aziraphale gently kissed him on the cheek.

“I want to thank you for telling me all this about you,” he said. “For trusting me enough with this information. And for caring enough about me to explain, instead of just staying away and trying to lose contact.

But now I have to tell _you_ something. 

From the moment I met you, I knew you were special. You know why? Because you care about things. You care very deeply and genuinely about what interests you, and you know so much about it. It's a pleasure to talk to you, because you are intelligent and critical and have a very deep and complex understanding of things. And you are kind. You listen to me when I have to say something. You brought me a flower. And you never judge me, no matter how weird I am. Which, trust me, pretty much everyone else I encounter does. 

I feel good with you, Crowley. And I never do with people. You are honest and open and loving and sweet, and I enjoy being around you so much. We all have our issues, I don't mind that. I could list you all the issues you will encounter with me, and you can believe me that they are not very pleasant, either. 

I'm not trying to belittle what you said to me. I do believe you feel that way and I do believe you are struggling with all of this. But I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that you are worth all this in my eyes. I will reassure and validate you each and every day, on multiple occasions. Tell me the special treatment you need and I will stick to it, as good as I can. I think you are a wonderful person, and I will do whatever I can to make you feel good. 

And even though you might not see it yourself, I get a lot of things from you, Crowley. In fact, I get everything that I ever dreamed of. And if you allow me to, I want to stay with you and remain your friend. Or... or whatever else you want to call me.”

Crowley sobbed and covered his face with his hands. Aziraphale _ssshhhh_ ed at him soothingly and squeezed him tightly with both of his arms.

“You deserve so much better,” Crowley cried into his hands.

“There is no one better,” Aziraphale stated.

“I will disappoint you! I will be so much trouble!”

“No, you won't.”

“Yes, I will!”

“No.”

“Yes, I will... I will... I will...”

Aziraphale held him while he cried, leaning his cheek against his head. Soon, the chanting went over into little sobs and then into sniffles, and after a while, Crowley was silent. Aziraphale still held him tight and let him calm himself down. When he stirred, he took his arms off him and scooted a tiny bit to the side. 

Crowley shakily reached out his hand and grabbed his teacup, clutching it tightly before he lifted it to his lips and drank from it. The warm beverage seemed to calm him a bit more, but he still looked very far from happy. 

Aziraphale placed his hand in Crowley's neck and caressed it gently. 

“Feeling a bit better?” he asked tentatively.

Crowley nodded, but it didn't look very convincing.

“What is it?” Aziraphale wanted to know.

“I just... I mean, I imagined this, but I could never figure out, in my thought-simulations, if I would be happier with you pushing me away or with you actually being fine with it all... Because I don't want to be a burden to you, I don't want to worry or hurt you, and I'm afraid I will do exactly that when I stay... But I also can't imagine living without you... It would hurt so much... So I don't know what to think now...”

“I see...” Aziraphale hummed. “Well, see it this way: Instead of worrying about hurting me, how about you think about all the times you will bring me joy and make me happy? The past few days only held one occasion of worrying, and that was just because I didn't know all the things that you just told me yet. But they held countless happy moments as well, moments of interesting conversation, laughter, music, movies, food... If you weren't with me, all that would be gone. You make me happier than you could ever make me sad. And even if I worry, it's only because you mean so much to me. And that can't be undone, no matter what you –“

He was cut off as Crowley darted forward and pressed his lips against Aziraphale's mouth. His movement was so sudden that his tea slopped, but luckily, it wasn't hot anymore. 

Aziraphale was way too startled anyway. He gave a surprised sound and leaned a bit back by reflex, but Crowley was still there to kiss him. Kiss him... Crowley was _kissing_ him!

Butterflies spread their wings in his stomach. They were flapping around in an excited tumble, spiralling up his chest and colliding with his heart, tossing and turning it about like a spinning top. Then they flitted up to his head, too, and filled it with dizziness. For a moment, he felt like he was falling backwards, so he quickly placed his hand on Crowley's cheek to steady himself.

Just as he was beginning to get a hold of the situation, Crowley retreated and broke their kiss. His face was still hovering close to Aziraphale's, though, his eyes wet and reddened, streaks of tears on his face. He looked uncertain, as if he wasn't sure if this kiss had been a good idea, but there was also something else in his eyes, something softer, warmer. Thankfulness. Relief. And something that finally resembled happiness. Aziraphale himself was sure to be the happiest person in the universe right now.

He started to laugh delightedly and placed his second hand on Crowley's other cheek to cradle his face. It lit up in the most beautiful smile right then, beaming at Aziraphale from ear to ear. It filled Aziraphale with so much bliss that he got completely dizzy all over again.

Smiling widely, they kissed again and Crowley must have put the mug down, because Aziraphale felt his arms wrapping around himself, pulling him closer. They kissed like that for what felt like an eternity, and then they smiled at each other, and sank down on the bed. There they lay, tangled, and just held onto each other, enjoying their warmth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have written out so far.  
> I definitely want to make Crowley meet Gabriel and Raphael, and to make Aziraphale meet Bentley and Crowley's parents.  
> But idk when I will be able to continue this fic, because real life is being a pain in the ass right now.  
> Since I left this fic off at a happy place, though, I think it's okay to take a while before it will continue :)  
> Thank you to everyone who has read it this far, and especially to the lovely people who regularly left me comments.  
> They mean the world to me, and I'm so glad you seem to have enjoyed my fic <3


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